The Book of Verses: Chapter One
by ericwinter
Summary: Being Harry Potter was supposed to be easy. Free Sirius, find the Horcruxes, wait for Voldemort to get resurrected and kill me, then kill him back. Then Devils, Homunculi, Demigods, and half-men/half-girls started popping out of the woodwork. Now I've got nothing left to do but ride by the seat of my pants and hope it all works out. Mass crossover SI.
1. Prologue

**OOC: Alright then, let's get this started. So first off, I want to make it very clear that his is an SI, with all that entails. Much like with my other SI I tried to write a while ago, I will be trying to keep this as realistic as possible, but fully admit that my own perceptions may be somewhat skewed. If you think I'm being unreasonably vain, feel free to voice your concerns and I'll do what I can to lay them to rest. I don't want to brag, but there's quite a few things about my life that would probably come out that way, and I'm not going to purposefully downplay what I am capable of for the sake of avoiding Gary Stue accusations. If you're really concerned about it, look at it this way. If I can come up with it to put in a story, I can probably come up with it in real life. Other character's reactions are, of course, subjective, but I'm willing to offer debate when the subject comes up as long as you're respectful and do the same.**

**Second off, this is also a crossover. A pretty big crossover, in fact, with several different settings taking place. The reason for that is two-fold. One, I want a little wiggle room for what is possible with magic, and while I could probably get away with my main plans, any little thing helps. Two, Harry Potter is simply too ****_easy _****to solve for an SI. Gather the Horcruxes, either get yourself killed or-if you want to be particularly paranoid-wait for Voldemort to revive so he can do it to be sure, then gank both him and them. It really shouldn't take longer than fourth year, fifth year at the latest. This way Harry, while still having some advantages, can still be thrown off-guard and won't be able to just steamroller his way through everything. Some things, yes. Everything, no. I can also warn you that the crossover elements won't really make an appearance for a couple chapters, but they're there. Just be patient. The Sorting should be the first point they become apparent.**

**Third, there will be a timeskip after this Prologue, and the first true chapter will shift into our SI's perspective. This is just to set the stage. Enjoy, and don't forget to Review! Ciao!**

XXX

Petunia had never liked her nephew, not since the moment he was first dumped on her doorstep. The boy was _strange,_ even considering that he had doubtless inherited his parents' unnaturalness. Unlike many babies, he never seemed to cry, but nor did he smile either. Instead, the boy simply watched, eyes deep and inquisitive as they took in the world around him. Even when Dudley would borrow his toys or try to play with him, Harry simply ignored him. And as the boy grew older, things only got worse.

Harry Potter was extraordinarily intelligent for his age, reading almost as soon as he could pick up a book and answering questions swiftly and easily. He never disobeyed orders, or complained about the work Petunia often assigned him, and learned it quickly, but there was something about the way he was unfailingly polite that grated on Petunia's nerves. Even the few times they locked him in his cupboard as punishment for careless mistakes, he never spoke up, simply acknowledging the treatment with simple acceptance. If it weren't for Petunia's memories of her sister and the way she would come home from that horrible school spouting blasphemy and spilling unnaturalness with every step, she would almost think the boy was as normal as her. And yet, there were the eyes; so like Lily's, and yet not, with a judgemental and discerning edge that reminded Petunia just how strange her nephew was, for all his efforts at hiding it. So when she came down the stairs on his eighth birthday to find the boy sitting at the dining room table with breakfast unmade, she knew immediately that something was terribly wrong.

"Boy? Where's our breakfast?" Vernon, her husband, grumbled from where he stood beside her, walking forward to loom over the table and Harry in turn. And yet there was no flinch in the eight-year-old's demeanor as he met his uncle's beady gaze, merely the slightest tugging of lips.

"Apologies, Uncle, but you'll have to be making your own breakfast today, and every other day from now on. Or rather, make Petunia do it, since god knows you would starve before learning how to feed yourself." Petunia flinched at the quiet, cutting tone of Harry's voice. He'd always had a way of speaking that sounded so eloquent, but never had she heard it turned to viciousness, let alone against his own family. At the same moment, she felt a shard of anger burst to life in her chest. How dare the child speak that way to her husband? Didn't he know who put food on the table for him, who provided everything he needed in life? She stepped forward, features creasing into a deep scowl.

"You will not talk to your Uncle like that Boy, and fulfill your duties. Get to it, _now, _before I have to find a way to… _motivate _you." Normally, even the slightest threat would have Harry submissive, quickly and easily bowing his head and uttering apologies. Not today, it seemed, as instead her Nephew merely turned a smirk her way, one dark eyebrow quirking in amusement.

"I would love to see you try, Aunt Petunia," He stated, near-laughter coloring his tone, "But now is not the time to test wills. There are greater matters to discuss." Petunia felt her scowl deepen and she made to take another step forward, intending to discipline the suddenly rebellious child, but Vernon beat her there first. Clenching his meaty fists tight and reddening to a deep scarlet, her husband slammed them down on the table as a dark snarl crossed his face.

"Did you not hear her boy!? Now, i don't know what foolish fancy has gotten into your head, but you will not speak to us that way! I am going to beat you so hard you'll-" As quickly as it started, Vernon's rant ended in sudden silence, as it appeared he had swallowed his tongue. Harry, on the other hand, blinked down at the finger he had suddenly waved in his Uncle's direction.

"Huh, I didn't actually expect that to work. Brilliant." Petunia, for her part, stared in disbelief. He-he had just used magic. But that was impossible! How could the boy possibly have learned anything about it, after they'd done their best to exterminate any concept of the word in their house?

"But-but that's impossible." she stuttered, earning a sidelong glance from Harry.

"Is it, Petunia? you know just as well as I that magic exists." She flinched, before looking back over to where Vernon was. he didn't appear to be choking, but his face had very quickly gone from red to white and he was staring at their nephew starkly now. When she looked back to Harry, his smirk had widened.

"What do you want?" She asked quietly, despairing that Vernon wouldn't be teaching the boy a lesson any time soon. Her husband was a brave man, and noble, but he knew just as well as she the dangers of magic's unnatural abilities. Unarmed and unprepared, there would be no disciplining her nephew. Surprisingly, however, Harry let out a heavy sigh, his expression falling down into a frown.

"Well I _had _hoped to do this civilly, but I suppose threatening will have to do." The boy was short-considering he was still an under-fed eight-year-old-but still Petunia and Vernon flinched when he stood up and fixed them both with a piercing stare. "I will put this simply, so we may all return to our likely busy lives. You don't want me here, I know for a fact, and I don't want to be here. To remedy this, I propose a deal. You drive me to the village of Ottery st. Catchpole, and I shall never darken your doorstep again."

Petunia blinked in surprise, then blinked again when Harry's gaze remained unwavering.

"That's it" She said, a hint of incredulousness making itself known in her tone. "You expect us to just drop you off at a random village and be done with it all? What do you think would happen if Child Services were to catch wind of it? Or our neighbors?" The boy was insane, utterly insane. She'd never even heard of this Ottery St. Catchpole, so how had he? And why would the little monster want to go there? In response, however, he just shrugged, utterly uncompromising.

"I could care less, honestly, but none of that is my concern. Now, if you'd like the government to hear about how I live in a literal cupboard beneath the stairs and am required to do what could politely be termed 'excessive' chores, then I'll happily arrange." This time, Petunia didn't flinch. Instead, she took a full step backwards, horror dawning on her features as she realised she'd been played. The boy was never accepting of his position, merely biding his time. Now that, for whatever reason, he was ready to leave their house and go do whatever madness had gripped him, he was striking as hard and fast as possible.

"Y-you can't!" She cried, desperation taking her as she digested the information. "We'd be ruined!" Again, the boy shrugged, cruel and merciless as he stared at her with those deep green eyes.

"Not my problem. I would happily see you all thrown in jail if necessary, but it's much easier to simply ignore your sad and pitiful existences. Revenge is a fruitless pursuit that would simply leave both of us bleeding." Those words, at least, brought a small blossom of hope to Petunia's heart. If that was what he wanted then fine. She'd never wanted the boy anyways, and if it meant not getting their lives and livelihoods destroyed, she would happily comply. The mad fool could get himself killed wandering the countryside for all she cared. Still, that wouldn't stop her from throwing one last bit of spite at the child for humiliating her dear husband the way he did. The tall woman drew herself up and put on as vicious a sneer as she could.

"Fine, boy. Get in the car."

XXX

"Ron, tugging your sister's hair is not okay, and Fred, you know better than to put itching powder into your siblings' food! George, stop stealing Percy's quills. Charlie, can you- oh, hold on, there's someone at the door!" Molly Weasley breathed a small sigh of relief as she broke away from the gaggle of her children while they ate lunch to go answer whoever had rung their barely-functioning bell. She loved them all, but dealing with their antics together like that was always a difficult balancing act. She had no doubt that by the time she had returned there would be utter chaos, yet the break was entirely welcome. She _was_ surprised, however, when finding a small black-haired boy on her doorstep instead of an adult from the village or some other acquaintance of hers. "Well hello, dear. Are you lost?"

"Mrs. Weasley, correct?" The boy asked in lieu of an answer, observing her curiously with his sharp green eyes. He looked little older than seven, eight at the most, but there was something terribly mature about them, as if she were being examined by someone who had seen much in their life. At her nod, he broke into a small smile, making him seem even older. "Brilliant. I wish to ask a favour or two, if that's all right."

"Oh of course, of course!" Moly exclaimed, beaming widely at him. The boy was ever so polite, unlike far too many children these days. "May I ask your name? And where are your parents? It's not safe for someone your age to be wandering around alone."

"I got directions from one of the villagers, actually." The boy corrected, an expression of bemusement claiming his features. "And my parents happen to have passed away while I was young. As for my name, well…" he paused here, smirking slightly and holding out a hand. "I'm Harry Potter. It's a pleasure to meet you, Ma'm."

Molly froze, blinking down at the boy as her brain suddenly lurched in surprise. Had he said Harry Potter? There was the black hair, and green eyes, and he certainly looked the proper age… but she had seen fake Harry Potter's before, often trying to convince the goblins at Gringotts that they should be let into his vault. So her eyes narrowed on his covered forehead suspiciously.

"Harry Potter, dear? Are you sure?" Molly had no idea why someone would try to pretend to be the Wizarding World's savior to her, but the War had only been over for eight years. Some of the paranoia from that time was still buried in her psyche. Thankfully, the boy didn't seem to take offense at her suspicion, merely smirking after following where her gaze had landed.

"I do believe I'd remember my own name, Ma'm, but if you're really concerned…" Almost nonchalantly he raised a hand to run through his hair-in the process pulling it far enough back to reveal he did indeed have the famed lightning bolt scar where it was said Voldemort's final spell had struck him. "I'm afraid I don't have any more compelling evidence on me, but I'm sure there are ways to do so if you'd like."

"Oh no, that won't be necessary." Molly said quickly, shaking her head as her fears were laid to rest. It was still entirely possible that the child was lying, but now that she looked she could see the clear resemblance to Lily and James Potter in his features, and she wasn't _that _paranoid. "Please, come in and get settled."

"Gladly." He replied and followed her into the small but cozy sitting room. As Harry settled down onto a plush red couch, Molly left him for a moment to re-enter the dining room where her children were still finishing their meal.

"Ah, Bill, I'll be entertaining a guest for the next short while. Would you mind watching your siblings for a time?" She asked, addressing her oldest where he was already attempting to catch Ginny as she crawled under the table.

"Yeah Mum, I've got them!" He shouted to be heard over the racket of half a dozen voices. "I've got them! Get _over _here, Gin!" Molly nodded, before sweeping one last glance over the table to ensure there wasn't anything else she needed to do that Bill couldn't. Assured nothing was _too _out of hand, the red-headed woman returned to her guest with a satisfied expression.

"Anything I can help with?" Harry asked with a cocked eyebrow, obviously having heard the noise, but Molly shook her head.

"Oh no, just children being children. I've asked my eldest to watch the rest for the time being." She replied, and he made a small noise of acknowledgement. After a moment, Molly took a seat across from him in her favorite armchair. "Now, you said you had a favor to ask, dear? I'll admit, I am confused as to why you don't just ask your family if you needed something." At this Harry smiled with chagrin.

"Well, I would say it's because they're narcissistic and abusive monsters, but in all honesty it's just that the problem is rather particular to you and your household." Molly blinked, then blinked again. _Wait, what?_

I'm sorry, but It sounded like you said your family was abusing you," the woman said shakily, eyes wide as she stared at the young boy, "But that can't possibly be correct, can it?" In response, Harry simply shrugged.

"Well I _was _rather cooperative most of the time, so they never really escalated too badly, but I still lived in the cupboard and had an excessive amount of housework. They also called me a lot of insulting names before realizing I didn't react to them and dropped it." Molly gaped, but Harry didn't seem particularly concerned by what he was saying. Slowly, her face softened as she felt a terrible amount of pity start to eat at her chest. _Oh, the poor boy doesn't even realize just how badly he has it._ She thought, struggling against the motherly urge to just glomp him and be done with it. If she was correct, he might not appreciate such blatant affection, at least not this soon.

"Well, dear, I'll be happy to help you however you need. And you're welcome to stay here in the meantime for as long as you like." She offered instead with a warm smile, one that grew deeper still as Harry grinned back.

"Brilliant. I might take you up on that offer as well, if my plans take longer than expected to work out. Chances are fair I'll be waiting a couple days at least before I find a home."The dark-haired child replied, nodding. A moment later, however, the cheerful expression died and was replaced with one far more serious. "Now, to business. I would request two things of you: one is that you contact Professor McGonagall of Hogwarts and inform her that the third Marauder still lives and we may yet see justice done if her hunting instincts are still sharp. The other is that you gather your son Percy's pet rat and make sure it is caged in a place that it cannot escape from." Again, the Weasley matriarch blinked, but this time from confusion rather than disbelief.

"Those are… very strange requests, dear. Are you certain?" Not that she didn't believe he knew what he was doing. It was far too specific for that, and she had no idea how the young Potter would know about her son's rat unless it was actually important. But the instructions were just so vague and strange, she couldn't help but wonder what the meaning of it was. Harry, for his part, merely looked her dead in the eye with all the seriousness an eight-year-old boy could muster.

"I assure you, Mrs. Weasley, I am very certain. If all goes well, and it should, we could save an innocent man from Azkaban and capture a mass-murderer in hiding." _That _shocked Molly, perhaps more than anything else she had heard today, and she nodded dumbly in response. Then Harry smiled.

"Lovely. Let's get to work then."

XXX

Minerva McGonagall was right in the middle of scheduling her lesson plan when the Floo flared to life. Glancing upwards, she blinked in surprise, before standing and making her way over to see who it was. After getting there, however, she was forced to blink once again.

"Molly Weasley? To what do I owe the pleasure?" She asked, barely withholding the shock she felt. The Weasley matriarch was a woman she well remembered from days when she was still a student, and her name Prewitt, but they had little relation outside of school functions. Even the fact that all the woman's children-and there were a lot of them-were in McGonagall's own house was mostly a matter of discipline. Calls such as these were highly unusual, and even more so during the summer.

"Professor McGonagall! I'm glad to have caught you." Molly greeted as warmly as she did everybody, excepting those of her children who had gotten into some sort of mischief. Minerva answered it with a small, tight smile of her own.

"Of course, Molly, I was just preparing for the next school year. Is there something I can help with?" She asked once again.

"Oh yes. You see, I was asked to deliver a message to you. 'The third Marauder still lives, and we may yet see justice done if your hunting instincts are still sharp'. Does any of that mean something to you?" There was now a frown on Molly Weasley's face as she said this, but it was nothing compared to the one that grew in the wake of her words as shock and disbelief struck Minerva like a lightning bolt.

"It-it does, but that's impossible. The Marauders was the name Sirius Black, James Potter, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew called themselves, but two of them are dead and one's in Askaban. There couldn't be a third marauder." Surprisingly, Molly made a noise of recognition at this, understanding dawning across her face.

"Well that makes some sense, I suppose. The message was given to me by James Potter's son. He also claimed we could save an innocent man tonight." McGonagall jerked back in shock, her mouth gaping wide.

"Harry Potter? You've spoken to him?" She asked, and Molly nodded.

"He's actually right here, if you'd like to come over. I believe that was his intent in the first place." And indeed, as soon as she said that there was a noise from the other side causing Molly to smile again, before disappearing from the fire. Minerva, taking this as the invitation it was, straightened and stepped into the fire, letting it whisk her away. A few seconds later, she was striding out onto the carpet of the Weasley's semi-famous Burrow. The first thing her eyes locked onto, however, was the head of unruly black hair that she couldn't have mistaken anywhere in the world as belonging to someone not a Potter.

"Merlin, you really do look like your father." She breathed, staring at the young boy of eight. She wasn't exaggerating; It was like looking at a carbon copy of James at a younger age, with deep green eyes as the only difference.

"But with my mother's eyes, I presume?" The boy quipped back almost instantly, a boyish grin stretching his lips. The expression took McGonagall aback. It looked almost exactly like the one James used to wear, except just a touch sharper and with the dim light of knowing humor in his eyes. Still, she had enough presence of mind to shake her head slightly.

"Not quite," She admitted truthfully.. "They're very similar, but yours look just a little deeper than hers." Harry cocked an eyebrow in surprise, but then shrugged his shoulders as he turned towards, strangely, a small cage with a large rat unconscious inside.

"Well since you're here we might as well take advantage of the situation. Tell me, Professor, do you remember the nicknames my father and his friends called each other during their school years?"

"If I recall correctly, it was Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs." She answered, before frowning. "May I ask why, Mr. Potter?"

"I'll get to that in a moment." He said, waving her question away while continuing to observe the rat studiously. "But did you ever wonder _why _they called each other those names in particular?" At this, Minerva's eyes narrowed, and she looked back down at the rat as well. She had considered the thought, once upon a time, and throwing her mind back to when they first began provided many clues. Remus Lupin's, of course, had been obvious; all the staff were made aware of his status as a Werewolf and the correlation to the full moon was hard to miss. But the others… It was just after they had spent nearly an entire year putting extraordinary effort towards their Transfiguration and reading advanced books-books she recalled from her own attempts at what she still considered to be one of her greatest skills.

"I suspected." She answered carefully, noting the way Molly Weasley's attention bounced between the two of them from where she stood off to the side. The woman had yet to comment on their conversation, but she certainly seemed interested in it. Minerva found herself wondering just what her part in all of this was before her attention was pulled away by Harry opening the cage and pulling its occupant out by the tail-a very worm-like tail, she noted with a distinct sense of shock.

"Well then," He said, holding the rat up. "You'll understand why I'd like you to cast an animagus reversal charm on this rat then." Suddenly, both Mrs. Weasley and Minerva focused completely on the black-haired boy with distinct expressions of incredulousness.

"You think that rat is _Pettigrew?_" Minerva said disbelievingly, even at the same time Molly spoke in a far higher tone of voice.

"My son's been sleeping with a grown man in his bed!?" Both women stopped, glancing at each other in surprise while Harry observed them both with bemusement. After several seconds of awkward silence-in which the rat surprisingly did not wake up-he sighed.

"To put it simply, yes, for both of you. I can explain the rest in a moment," He said quickly, holding up a hand to stop them when their mouths opened to protest again, "But first can you please change him back? It's rather important for the next step of the process." Minerva gulped, the consequences of Harry being correct suddenly a very large concern in her mind, but made to comply, raising her wand and focusing on the spell. It took a moment to remember, not having had to cast it in a long time, but soon she had it, and as soon as she waved her wand she knew it was the right choice.

Within moments, it had become clear the rat was not a rat as it did indeed suddenly grow, enlarging until there was a man on the spot Harry had dropped him. He remained unconscious-Minerva was starting to suspect a stunner or something similar- but the Transfiguration professor recognised him all the same. The man was what would generously be called large, but in all honesty fit the word fat perfectly, and looked distinctly rat-like, with small beady eyes currently closed and dirty brown hair that matted filthily. It was, without a doubt, Peter Pettigrew.

"Oh Merlin," Molly exclaimed softly, looking as if she was about to faint. Harry gave her a sympathetic look, but still shook his head.

"That's not the important part." he said, before stepping over to the man and picking up his left arm. Then, carefully, the boy drew back his sleeve to reveal something that had haunted the nightmares of all Wizarding Britain eight years ago. The Dark Mark.

That was about when Minerva lost her ability to stand.

XXX

Albus Dumbledore sighed gustily as he set aside yet another pile of paperwork, reaching a hand upwards to pinch his nose. The last few days had been an absolute mess for him, ever since his deputy-headmistress had come into his office yelling about an abused Boy-Who-Lived, Sirius Black's innocence, and the apparent revival of Peter Pettigrew, who was also a Death Eater. Things only got worse from there.

It had taken some doing, but eventually Albus managed to calm Minerva down enough to get the full story. Harry Potter, it seemed, had taken it upon himself to leave his aunt's abode-permanently, if his check on the now collapsed blood wards was any indication-and travel to the Burrow, whereupon he revealed to Molly Weasley that her son Percy's pet rat was in fact the animagus Peter Pettigrew, famed for having died at the hand of Sirius Black. He also called for Minerva's help to prove this fact by casting an animagus reversal charm, which explained why it was she who had come to him and not Molly Weasley herself.

Within minutes Albus had been made to feel his age as he felt the weight of several old mistakes falling upon his head. The realization that he had allowed an innocent man to lounge in prison for almost seven years was one thing, but that the Potter's _actual _killer was still free for most of that time, and that his plan to place their son with his last few living relatives had backfired spectacularly only multiplied the guilt. Even spending the last few days doing everything he could to expedite the trial and Sirius's release had done little to lighten the burden.

_Thud. Thud. Thud. _Albus glanced up at the sound of a small hand knocking on his door, lips twitching into a bitter smile before he smoothed it away.

"Enter." He called in his usual manner, and a few seconds later the door opened to reveal a sight both heartening and painful. Harry Potter, to a casual observer, could easily be said to resemble his father with the addendum of having his mother's eyes. To Albus, however, a man who had lived through two wars and nearly a century of politics, there was far more to the boy than merely his legacy. His eyes, while the correct shape and color, had depth to them uncommon for children his age, and the expression of casual scrutiny he wore as his eyes swiveled about the room with something like half-remembered recognition was far too scholarly a thing for James Potter to have ever possessed.

"Ah, Harry, my boy. It is good to see you after so long." The ancient headmaster greeted, snapping his visitor's attention to him. "Please, have a seat. Lemon Drop?" Harry cocked a curious eyebrow at the offer, but waved it away as he took the proffered seat.

"And you as well, Professor. To be honest, I was expecting you to meet me a few days ago." Albus smiled at the comment, even as he felt once again that stab of guilt. He had, in fact, considered going to meet the boy almost as soon as he received news young Harry had appeared, but both his work and a measure of uncertainty stayed his hand. Even putting aside his efforts in Sirius's trial, there was much to make up for.

"I'm afraid I have been rather busy recently." The old Headmaster stated, tilting his head pointedly at the boy. "Something I can thank you for."

"I would say I'm sorry, but I pride myself on never lying." Harry responded easily, lips twitching with quiet humour. "I could never apologize for freeing an innocent man from what I can politely call a hell-hole."

"And what of Peter Pettigrew? Is his fate not a concern?" Albus questioned, one wrinkled brow rising in curiosity. He somehow doubted it had been left out of the pronouncement on accident. Harry, unsurprisingly, loosed a quiet snort and shook his head.

"That is, admittedly, a plus, though given the choice I would not condemn even he to a citadel full of soul-sucking horrors. Justice served is justice enough, I think." He replied, tilting his head right back, and in the same moment making Albus's eyes twinkle with relief. He had feared the boy might be more heavily scarred by his time under the Dursley's iron fists, but it seemed that was not to be. Albus remembered far too well how a similar boy with similar origins would have lacked such mercy.

"I agree, but it is outside my control, I'm afraid." Albus admitted after a moment, before smiling slightly and moving to change the subject. "But enough of are other matters to concern ourselves with today, I'm afraid."

"Such as the Blood Wards, I presume?" Harry asked easily, surprising the headmaster just a touch. "I imagine they've fallen to dust by now, and they can't be easy to replace. I wouldn't accept it regardless." There, Albus thought, was a strange edge to the boy's voice when he said that. Not wariness, not quite, but it was close enough to have him shaking his head and smiling gently in an attempt to ease his concerns.

"You are correct in your presumptions, though not my intent. Placing you with your Aunt and Uncle was undoubtedly a grave error on my part, and one I apologize for wholeheartedly." The headmaster replied, earning a curious eyebrow in return. It was unsettling how mature Harry acted, but Albus had seen much in his old age, and for all that most children would react very differently to this situation, he could easily accept that The Boy Who Lived was _not _most children. If his suspicions were true, then the differences were quite mild, in fact.

"Hmm," The boy hummed after a moment's thought, eyes piercing deeply into Albus as he contemplated the apology. "I must say, that was unexpected. Encouraging, certainly, but unexpected." This time it was Albus's turn to raise an eyebrow, his smile growing just a touch.

"Did you think me a monster to leave a child in plight?" He questioned with a tone of humour, earning a smile in return.

"It was a possibility." The boy replied, just as humorously, and yet with the same half-wary edge. "I must admit, Professor, you are one of the few people I was unsure of. You could have gone several different ways." Albus could not deny that the assertion hurt, but he pushed it aside. The boy had just given him an opening to ask something else, actually, and he didn't want to waste it.

"Is that so?" The old wizard started, for the first time leaning back in his chair. He raised a hand to stroke his beard as he gazed at the boy who, seemingly sensing his sudden shift of tone, stiffened slightly. "That actually brings up another of my questions, Mr. Potter. How _do _you know so much of the Wizarding World, despite being raised so far from anything magical?" There was a pause, as Harry blinked in seeming surprise, before he smiled and let loose a huff of laughter.

"Ah, that." The boy said, shrugging a shoulder. "I'm afraid the answer is the same as anything else I know. I _learned._" There was a smile playing at his lips as he spoke, one that left a sharp light in his eyes. Albus frowned, but without finding even a hint of compromise in Harry's gaze, he knew it would be hopeless to ask more than that. He had his suspicions, of course, but he would not force the boy to speak. That would only drive him further away, and after all Albus had done to harm him inadvertently, such cruelty would be inexcusable. Instead he let out a heavy sigh.

"Very well. We are all entitled to our secrets, I suppose. I can only hope you come to trust me enough to share them, one day." He nodded to Harry, who smiled back. A beat passed, and then he sighed again. The conversation, it seemed, had dried up, and there was only so much time Albus could devote with all his other responsibilities. Wearily, he held out one wrinkled hand, smiling as he looked deep into Harry's eyes. "It has been a pleasure speaking to you Mr. Potter."

"And you," The dark-haired boy replied, nodding even as he kept his gaze steady and took the hand. Then he stood from his seat and, without another word, left. Albus watched him go, thoughts swirling wildly as he considered the enigma of Harry Potter. It would, he decided, be interesting to watch him grow even more than he already had. Perhaps Trelawney would even have an apprentice, given a few years time.

It was not until several minutes later that Albus realized that for all the time he had spent studying the boy's gaze, not once had Harry met his eyes in return.

XXX

When Sirius first saw his godson after finally being released from Azkaban, it was not at all how he had imagined. The Marauder expected, if anything, a carbon copy of James-with allowances for the eyes, of course-smiling and laughing with boyish exuberance as he rushed to hug the man who should have been keeping him safe all the time, or perhaps A fury like Lily's at his failure to do so. What he got instead was not joy or rage, not even judgement of any kind, but instead the quiet creature seated before him in the Hogwarts Headmaster's Office-kindly loaned to them by Dumbledore-calmly sipping at his cup of tea as those too-deep eyes scrutinized every inch of Sirius Black they could find.

"So, uh," Sirius began after a long silence in which the two had done nothing but stare at each other." I guess I should start by asking how you've been. You know, since…" And here he trailed off, not quite sure what he had even been meaning to say in the first place. How had he been since Sirius ran off to hunt Pettigrew and his eventual arrest, leaving Harry to the not-so-tender mercies of his magic-hating relatives. Oh, Sirius remembered Petunia Dursley well enough, though they had only met once or twice, and he recognized the spite that seemed to make up her very being. He could only imagine what thye had done to his precious godson during the last seven years.

"I'm alive." Harry picked up the slack swiftly, a sardonic humor more reminiscent of Lily than James in his voice as he shrugged. "It could always be worse." That was a relief, Sirius decided, and for more than just the words. There was no bitterness in his voice, a least none that Sirius's admittedly less-than stellar social prowess could detect. If there had been, he might have been worried. Still, he pressed, determined to know just how badly he had failed.

"And your Aunt and Uncle? Did they treat you right?" Sirius asked, just a hint of his desperation spilling into his cocked an eyebrow in response, before snorting and shaking his head.

"Not in the slightest."The boy replied, and if Sirius was not too busy listening to the shattering of his heart, he might have wondered about Harry's tone. Just like before, there was no bitterness, no pain. It was as if he had simply stated a fact about some long last ancient piece of history, something that had absolutely nothing to do with him. There was just something so incongruous about it all, a complete shock that he could not even begin reacting too.

"H-harry, I-I-" Sirius started to mumble, knowing he had to say something, but not quite sure what. Where could you even start with something like that? How do you apologize about having apparently screwed up so badly your godson takes domestic abuse as nothing more than a minor nuisance? As something to _laugh _about?Thankfully, the boy seemed to notice his hesitation, pausing as he took a sip before his green eyes narrowed. Slowly, Harry aborted the sip, setting his cup down with a quiet _clink_ and folding his hands over his lap. Then, he met the still stuttering Sirius's eyes with complete and utter calm, backed by a frigid seriousness that froze the Marauder in his tracks.

"Sirius," He said, the one word cutting off his godfather instantaneously. Then he paused, a bare instant of hesitation, before continuing. "Sirius, there is something you need to know, before any of this goes further. Well, a lot of somethings, actually, but one in particular. Everything else can come after, if you're still here." And didn't that just send a chill down his spine. What was it this broken creature could consider so terrible he might abandon the pup he had only just found, when even abuse was but a caustic joke? And more importantly, what had those monsters done to his godson to make him this way?

"What? What is it Pup? What did they do to you?" Sirius asked, no, _begged_ from the boy, meeting his deep green eyes desperately and searching for some hint of the child he had once rocked to sleep. But there was nothing there, nothing but a cold, calculating gaze.

"The Dursley's haven't touched me, Sirius. I complied with their wishes and kept my head down for the entire time I was with them." Harry replied easily, not an assurance it seemed, but simple fact. If anything, Sirius thought he saw a flicker of annoyance at having to explain pass through his expression, but it was gone faster than he could blink, leaving only a smooth serenity. The boy shook his head a moment later, lips twitching downwards as he glanced towards his tea, before dismissing it casually with a flick of his eyes. Sirius, unable to believe this, shook his own head.

"Then what is it, Pup? What's got you so worked up?" There was the desperation again, no longer a simple edge but rather the entirety of his tone. Again, Harry paused, his entire body going still before finally he slumped, eyes closing and one hand going up to hold his head as he sighed heavily.

"Fuck it, there's no way I'm going to manage to put this nicely." The dark-haired boy muttered quietly, so low Sirius might not have heard it had it not for the partially enhanced sense his Animagus from granted even while human, and no wonder. It sounded almost as if an entirely different person had been speaking, words rough and caustic where before they had been polite and cultured. He had also, oddly enough, slipped into an american accent, or something halfway there at least. Before Sirius could even begin to make sense of the change, however, Harry had once again straightened, and when next he spoke it was with the same voice as usula, albeit forgoing formalities. "Look, Sirius, I'm going to just say this and get it out of the way. I'm not Harry Potter. Or rather, I'm not the Harry Potter you knew before Azkaban."

For a moment, silence reigned after that statement. Then Sirius blinked. Then he blinked _again._ And then a _third _time, before finally the man found his voice.

"I'm sorry, what?" He asked, because really, what else was there to say to that? Sirius was still trying to process the knowledge that his godson was horribly traumatized by his experiences with his relatives, there wasn't much brainpower left to consider this new, ridiculous twist the eight-yea-old boy had thrown his way. Harry, seeming to notice the blank stare as his godfather froze up, sighed again.

"I said I'm not Harry Potter. Not originally at least." He grinned at that for a moment, before frowning as Sirius failed to react. After a moment, however, he just shrugged, visibly moving on. "This is certainly Harry Potter's body, of that I have no doubt, but the soul? That's a different matter." Here he tapped his head for some reason, a small sardonic smile on hs face. Sirius, on the other hand, simply stared, until finally some stray spark managed to escape the blockade of his thoughts, and he spoke.

"Huh?" He uttered, perhaps not the most eloquent possiblity, but at least it was something. Harry seemed amused by the reaction, lips quirking just a touch before he paused and sighed again, shaking his head.

"Look, I get why you're confused. It sounds mad, even to me. But you deserve to know the truth, mad or not. I am not Harry Potter." Harry sighed again. "I'll admit, I'm not quite sure what I am. A wandering soul perhaps, sucked into the void left after Voldemort severed his, or perhaps the victim of some prankster deity's idea of a good joke. Whatever the case, I know too much, have too many memories of another person, another life to be the same child that once owned this body." This time, the silence that descended lasted for a lot longer than one moment. A minute passed, and then another as Sirius struggled to comprehend what he was being told, everything that had been said. He sat there, staring at the dark-haired, green-eyed boy who simply returned his gaze, occasionally taking another sip of his tea as the quiet stretched on. Finally, Sirrius reached one, irrefutable conclusion.

"You're mad." It wasn't surprising, really. Not after what he must have gone through, the horrors Sirius knew hatred could drive a person to inflict even upon their own family. The Witch Trials, too, were well remembered by the Wizarding Community, and though they had long ago left those dark and barbaric days behind, they were eminent proof of what a Muggle would be willing to do to Magicals when they hated and feared them as much as Petunia had always seemed to. It made perfect sense now that he truly thought about it. Harry, funnily enough, did not even seem offended by the statement, merely smiling slyly and taking another sip.

"Of course I am," The boy replied much to Sirius's surprise. "There's no such thing as sanity after all. The question, Sirius, is not _whether_ I am mad, but how _much_, and in what way." Here he paused, looking over the rim of his cup in a way that Lily would have been proud of. His lips pursed, and he tapped a finger against the ceramic impatiently as he seemed to contemplate something. Then his smile widened even more, and he raised a dark eyebrow. "Are you going to turn me into the Mind Healers? There's nothing I can do to stop you." This time, it was Sirius's turn to pause. That… might not be a bad idea, he thought. Harry certainly seemed like he needed it. There was only one problem.

"It would never work." The man said, shaking his head and frowning fiercely. He was, after all, not entirely balanced himself. Seven years of Azkaban was a lot on the psyche of anyone, and while he had stayed mostly sane thanks to his Padfoot form and the singular purpose of revenge, nobody could have come out of that intact. Hell, the only reason they were allowed to have this meeting before the Healers cleared him was because Harry himself had requested it. Nobody would believe a man just out of prison that The-Boy-Who-Lived, who also happened to be the one to free him after catching the true culprit of his supposed crimes, was insane. Judging from the knowing smile Harry sent him after his statement, he knew it too.

"Well then." The boy said, smile widening with every word. "I suppose you'll just have to watch over me yourself, won't you. There's a nice big house I could stay in, If I recall correctly. Grimmauld Place, wasn't it?" And damn him, but Sirius couldn't find it in him to disagree. He wanted to, wanted to drag the boy to a Healer right that instant and get them to fix… whatever this was. But he couldn't. And if he didn't fulfill his responsibilities as Godfather one way, he would do it another. So he would take Harry into his home, as he had meant to in the first place. He would watch over him, care for him, and, as soon as Wizardly possible, get somebody to fix this goddamn mess. Even if it took him years, Sirius wouldn't fail. Not again.

At least he could start once he was cleared for public by making sure those monstrous Dursleys went to prison and _stayed _there, for their entire natural lives if he could help it. They wouldn't get away with what they had done, no matter what.

XXX

**OOC: P.S. Before I go: Funnily enough, that last scene isn't something I completely made up. Something similar has actually ****_happened _****to me, except they actually did try to drag me to an asylum. Granted, it was my stepmother who could probably be considered relatively insane herself, doing so for very different reasons, and my dad was thankfully there to stop it, but still. It was really interesting to write because of that. I think I was even about the same age.**


	2. Verse 1

Ten years is a long time. That seems obvious, of course, but when most of that time is spent waiting for something to happen, it gets all the more apparent. When I was first reincarnated into this world, I had been confused at first. My awareness was instant, no fog scattering my memories or long years of youth trying to make sense of vague dreams. I was simply there, asleep one moment and waking the next with a woman's screams in my ears and my body no longer the one I once knew. Once I figured out what was happening, that was to be expected, but what really threw me off the game was that I hadn't been born, exactly. Instead, I woke up as Harry Potter, the morning after Dumbledore left him on Petunia Dursley's doorstep. Or maybe I had already been inserted into his body directly after the killing curse struck and just been unconscious. I'm not sure, even after all the time I've spent thinking about it.

It wasn't that hard to piece together what was going on, catching tidbits of frantic conversation and names spoken over the course of the next few days, but I wasn't entirely sure until I managed to sneak a glance into a reflective surface. I didn't _think _I looked like Daniel Radcliffe, but considering I had never seen the man's baby pictures, that was relative. Still, it was hard to deny the absolute mess of black hair, deep green eyes, and lightning bolt scar right in the center of my forehead. As an avid fanfiction writer and reader both, it was easy to reach the obvious conclusion. I had been inserted into Harry Potter's body, for some unknown and likely absurd reason.

The next seven years were… complicated, to say the least. I wasn't exactly the kind of person to panic over suddenly finding myself in another body and world, and even if I was, there wasn't much I could do there regardless. Either this was a dream, in which case it would eventually end on its own, or it _wasn't, _and I would simply have to deal with it. At the same time, I found myself utterly constrained by a few simple facts, namely that while I could easily come up with all sorts of plans to make Voldemort a non-issue, the problem was _enacting _those plans, and being trapped at the Dursleys made it nearly impossible. Yet I couldn't just walk away, not immediately.

So I waited. Waited and plotted, and planned, and in the meantime either practiced with my magic or read books to simply fill up the days when I wasn't doing the Dursleys'... well, _everything._ Not that I minded either way. My body may have become a child's, but my mind was that of a grown man who had held down actual jobs and knew better than to let the insults get to him. I kept my head down, did what I was told, and went about my life with all the freedom of an active imagination. Even before reincarnating social stimulation had been more of a convenience than anything, so it's not like I got lonely either. I was mostly just bored. Tending the same yard and cleaning the same house over and over got old after a while, and school was a non-issue, all things considered.

Then came my eighth birthday, or rather Harry's. This was about the time I had concluded I could start getting things done. Just old enough for adults to not dismiss me out of hand, but early enough that I would have a few years to get ready before Hogwarts began. Which led to my first goal: Getting out from under the Dursleys and shifting myself over to the magical actually went surprisingly well. I was still surprised my magic actually worked how I wanted it too, since in my periodic experiments I could only get the thing to work how I wanted about thirty percent of the time. Another half and nothing happened, while the rest of the time it blew up in my face quite spectacularly.I once spent an entire day with tye-dye hair that tasted like cotton candy which was fun. When it came to the actual wizards themselves, I think it was mostly the combination of an eight-year-old boy who talked like and held themselves as a self-assured nineteen year old would, and the sheer knowledge of situations I held that allowed me to simply bulldoze through any problems. I had certainly expected much more resistance and cajoling necessary to get where I wanted to be, but simply coming into contact with the Wizarding World was enough. My choice to leave the Dursley's should have shattered the Blood Wards around there house like so much fragile glass, and now that I had returned, they wouldn't let their precious Boy-Who-Lived go, Dumbledore be damned. That first week was certainly interesting though. Even after all I had done to prepare myself for meeting and interacting with these people I knew so much about but had never actually met.I was still a touch nervous. And they _were _people, I had to remind myself. This wasn't some story where I could simply change the words on the page and have things go my way. This was real life, and there would be consequences to my actions, something I saw proven quite quickly in Sirius. Now _that_ had been a surprise.

After that, I had three years. Three years to prepare, to plan, and to start influencing things so that I could walk all over the Dark Lord and be free to pursue a life of magic and adventure. And I used it well. There wasn't much an eight-year old wizard could do, since without a wand I couldn't learn most conventional magic and I was still a kid so other options were limited. I did have _some _though. I easily found magic that didn't require a wand, a subject practically _made _for me even and so exploitable I couldn't believe it at times. I made a friend too, and a few acquaintances here and there while joining Sirius at social events or putting the fortune my parents had left me to use. Sirius even got around to shoving me at a Mind Healer at some point, which was absolutely fucking hilarious experience. The Marauder still believed I was insane, but now he knew it was in a different way than he originally thought. At least, I think he did, considering He hadn't called me Harry since.

Eventually, time ground on, and the time for waiting finally came to an end. And so I found myself on the Hogwarts Express, flipping through a large, leather-bound tome filled with my own handwriting, waiting for the inevitable plot hook to come walking through the door. Unfortunately for me, that wouldn't be happening quite yet. I had other things to do first.

XXX

The compartment was quiet, but for the flipping of pages and the pen tapping against my fingers as I wiggled it back and forth impatiently. HTere were a lot of things different about this new body from my old one, both in what I could do with it and how it looked, but my mind at least remained the same, and old habits came with it. ADHD was a bitch at the best of times, and I was almost constantly moving. It didn't help that my focus was having trouble staying on the page, wondering just who would show up first to get this whole show on the road. Ten years of waiting, and the real plot was about to start. Finally I paused, as the sudden sound of a door sliding open made me blink and look up. Well, that was unexpected, and just a touch disappointing.

"Draco Malfoy," I greeted neutrally, eyeing the blonde boy critically with a raised eyebrow. He was just as much as one might imagine, dressed impeccably in fine silk robes of black already edged in green, though they weren't his school ones. His hair was the image of a perfectly snotty pureblood, and the seer he wore could have fit perfectly were he looking at a piece of shit he had found stuck to his shoe. There was, interestingly enough, no Crabbe and Goyle at his back trying and failing to look intimidating, but that was the only discrepancy. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Hello Harry Potter." He replied, sharp grey eyes glancing up and down my form as his sneer deepened. I was dressed a touch more casually, a pair of black slacks and simple white t-shirt beneath the loose black hoodie of only middling quality, but I wore it like a second skin. "I see you've already gotten comfortable. Not afraid they'll toss you off the train to go live with the Muggles you so love?" I cocked an eyebrow, amusement skittering across my features.

"Been there, done that." I replied, snapping the book in my hands shut and standing to face him directly. He was taller than me, no real surprise there. Most people were, and the silver-haired boy was above average regardless. Still, I met his eyes easily and confidently, lips twitching upwards. "It was extraordinarily boring. Besides, I can't have you running amok without supervision, can I?" There was a beat of silence as the other boy processed that, then another, and finally he simply grinned, all semblances of disdain and arrogance vanishing in an instant.

"Dammit, you've got me there." Draco muttered, tone suddenly much friendlier as he stepped forward and swung his arms open. I accepted the hug easily, patting his back with just as much fervor as he while my own grin broke out. It was good to see him again, even after only a couple weeks since the last time. After a moment we released each other and he pulled back, eyeing me in a much more amicable way this time. "So, how was it?" He asked eagerly. "Did it sound good?"

"Hmm, not enough disdain I think." I told him, grin widening just a touch as his own fell slightly, but not completely. "Try calling the Muggles animals next time, that might do it. Or go for something else entirely. It was a weak subject to begin with."

"Yeah, yeah," Draco muttered, waving my advice away as he sat down. I followed, taking the place across from him and picking my book back up from where I had left it on the seat. "You're too demanding. Sometimes I think you actually _want _me to be an evil overlord or something." Despite his words, he didn't sound much like he was sulking. In fact, there was clear laughter behind his every word, and my friend's grey eyes were practically sparkling with mirth.

"You're the one who started this," I pointed out, smiling back. "And glamor, by the way." Draco blinked in surprise at my aside, before shaking his head.

"Right." He said, before blinking again, and suddenly I was looking at a very different boy from before. He was still blonde, and with grey eyes certainly, but everything else was different. His hair, previously so immaculate, was an utter mess of bed-head even worse than mine, and his clothing had shifted completely. Instead of robes, he was wearing a far more casual-if still utterly expensive and designer brand-pair of grey jeans and a white t-shirt with green shoulders and sleeves. Around his neck was a pari of headphones, the cord trailing down and disappearing into one of his pockets, and on his head a grey beanie tried and failed to hide his hair. He looked, I decided, like a sterotypical hipster. I couldn't help but feel that somewhere out here the cosmos were raging at how much I had corrupted him, after which I metnally flipped them the bird and turned back to the conversation.

"Looking good," I complimented, smiling as Draco slouched in his seat, completing the image. For a moment I wondered if there was a way to get some coffee for him to sip, but was distracted when Draco replied, breathing a sigh of relief.

"That's thanks to you, you know. This," And here he paused to flick at his earlobe, where a small black ear-piercing hung, covered in arcane scrawlings almost too small to make out, "makies life so much easier. My Father would kill me if he saw me like this." I cocked an eyebrow but didn't question the assessment. I didn't doubt Draco was entirely serious when he said that. Instead, I shrugged, glancing out the window to note that the crowds of people on the platform outside were starting to dry up. Glancing back, I smiled.

"It was just a glamour. And besides, I only designed the rune schema, Sirius is the one who made it." That was one of the pains of being wandless, and even after I had picked mine up a month ago-surprise surprise, it was holly and phoenix feather-I couldn't manage any of the spells necessary to craft such fine details if I had studied them the entire three years I had access to Wizarding knowledge. Transfiguration like that took a lot of skill and care, skill I hadn't been able to train. Pushing away the thought, I glanced down to his waist where the wire for the headphones was sticking out. "It was nothing like that thing." Draco followed my eyes, before smirking himself and pulling out the object inside, holding it up for me to inspect despite the fact he knew I was perfectly familiar with it.

It looked, on the surface at least, like a simple-if smaller and more compact-portable Walkman, the portable cassette player that was apparently popular before MP3 players became a thing. Inside, however, a different story was told. Oh it still functioned pretty much the same, reading Cassette tapes like any other walkman, but if you were to pry it open you would find instead of wires and batteries, hundreds of miniscule arcane markings etched along every surface availabe, with only the actual operating systems itself intact. I was actually working on making something to replace even that, but only had so much time with all my other projects, and inventing arcane electricity was far easier than learning how to read and translate stored information twice over.

"You know, Father tried to burn all my cassettes the other day?" Draco muttered, meeting my eyes when I looked back up at him. "I was lucky he sent Dobby to do it. If I hadn't already freed him and rebound him to me…" Here the boy trailed off, frowning down at the device in his hands. I frowned as well, before shaking my head.

"Your father's an asshole, Draco." I stated bluntly, to which he snorted in agreement. On that, we both stood in agreement. Still, it seemed to kill the mood a bit, and Draco shoved the Walkman back into his pocket and glanced out the window, expression turning pensive. For a minute silence descended, until finally he spoke, still not looking at me.

"You know, I'm glad I met you when I did Harry. If I hadn't, I don't know what I would have become." I winced, the words evoking memories in me of that time. It had been two or so years ago, and back then, Draco was just as much of a bratty snot as one might expect from him. Honestly, I wasn't sure what i was going to do about him at that point. While I liked Draco as a potential character to write with, In person he was just so _aggravating. _He said some things, I said some things, and at first it seemed like I would have to resign myself to having a petty and pathetic schoolyard rival. There are few things I will become truly angry about, but when people are being stupid for no reason, that's one of them. And Draco was being stupid. He didn't know _why _he disliked Muggles and Muggle-borns, just that his father said he should so he did. Nothing I said changed his mind. But then, an idea came to me, just as I was about give up, a terrible and brilliant idea that even I didn't realize would be so effective.

I dared him to learn. I _dared _him to go into a Muggle Library and ask about what was perhaps humanity's greatest achievement, the moon landing. I didn't pick that for any special reason, just that it was a big, well-known thing that Wizards hadn't even come close to achieving. And it worked. Hellbent on proving me wrong, On finding all the evidence he needed that Muggles were little more than monkeys still scrabbling in the dirt, he had apparently done exactly that. The next week I had a blonde ponce on my doorstep babbling about space and demanding I tell him more about the great Muggle Magics they called Science, and how on earth they were possible. It was almost fascinating, actually. I think at the beginning he was just planning to steal all the secrets he could from me and then present them to his father as his own invention, but eventually he grew to simply enjoy everything about Muggle culture. I swear, he was more Muggle than the Dursley's at this point, even if he still loved everything magical as well.

"I'm glad too." I said after a moment, the memories washing over me, both of how he could have been, and how he came to be who he was now.I hadn't expected a friend, when first making my plans to sort out Voldemort. I mean, the Golden Trio was a possibility, but I wasn't going to go out of my way to make it happen, and I had always been a naturally isolated person. I could go months, even years without really interacting outside of the occasional conversation with relatives. But now that I had one, I wouldn't complain for anything. It was worth the effort, at the end of the day, and helped remind me that this wasn't some grand game or esoteric thought experiment. People, not characters. I had to remember that.

XXX

After that, the conversation died off entirely, and we both settled in for a long ride. Draco, for his part, stretched out across an entire side of the compartment, eyes closed and one leg arched up as he listened to his music playing, bopping his head to the beat. I simply opened my book and continued doing what I was doing before, eyes scanning the arcane scrawlings and making minor notations here and there. For once, I was glad of Harry Potter's body. Unlike my old one, it didn't have a minor muscle atrophy that made my hand-writing look worse than a doctor's, so I could actually make the precise markings necessary not to make a mess of things and blow myself up. Runes were a very finicky process, and if used incorrectly could be quite dangerous.

Eventually, the train finished filling up, and I came to the conclusion that we probably weren't going to be getting any more visitors than that. Not for a while at least. So it was a surprise when just a few minutes after we had started moving, there came a knock at the door. I looked up, blinking, before exchanging glances with Draco, who just shrugged and fluttered a dismissive hand my way. Sometimes I wished I had managed to divest him of _all _his pompous personality. Sighing, I stood and made my way to the door, before pausing and looking the interloper up and down.

She looked familiar somehow, in that way that nags at you for days before you finally get it, long after you wanted. Her features were asian, Japanese or Chinese I would say but with bright red hair hanging down in pigtails and crystal blue eyes, and there was something distinctly… martial, to her stance, even just standing in the middle of the train corridor. She looked almost like a spring, coiled to strike at any moment.

"Hey, sorry to bother you," She said in a mildly accented voice, tone brusque and rushed as she glared at me, "But do you have any hot water I can use?" I blinked, processing the strange request, even as I kept studying her features. Seriously, I could have sworn I had seen her somewhere before, but I just couldn't place it. My memory was swiss cheese at the best of times, so I wasn't too surprised. It was just annoying.

"Sorry," I said after a moment, shaking my head. "No hot water. If you asked one of the older years they could probably make some though." The girl looked down at first, but then perked up when I made my suggestion.

"I think I'll do that, thanks!" She said, before turning and actually _running _down the corridor. I blinked again in surprise, before shrugging and putting it out of my mind. I knew wizards and witches were weird. She must just be one of the odder ones. Although I did have to wonder why she was looking for Hot Water specifically. Was she trying to make tea or something? Shaking my hed, I closed the door and went back to my seat, picking up my book. I was interrupted yet again less than a minute later, however, when this time the door was practically torn open, and another girl rushed in, calling over her shoulder.

"I said _no thank you_. Now leave me alone, if you please." The newcomer stated harshly before slamming the door behind her and turning to face the compartment fully. When she caught sight of me and Draco, however, she paused, giving me a chance to examine. Another redhead, this one was _also _naggingly familiar, making me wonder if perhaps there was something wrong with my memory. She, however, was very different from the last one. Her hair was longer for one, and a dark red crimson rather than a lighter red, but more distractingly was that I could actually call this one _beautiful._ Which was really weird and creepy, since she didn't look much older than twelve or thirteen, and while I'm sure my new body's hormones were influencing that, I was more concerned that she had developed enough to be note-worthy. Most kids around my-new-age were, at best, cute. But this girl had a classical beauty to her, matched only by the mature expression currently marred by a frown and an air of regalness the Lucius malfoy couldn't match on his best day. Her eyes, especially, were intriguing, a deep green-blue mix that seemed to shift with every moment

"Oh! Sorry. I thought this compartment was empty." The girl said after a brief instant in which we both studied the other, her eyes flickering between me and Draco who had propped himself up on one arm to examine her curiously. I simply raised an eyebrow in curiosity, gaze drifting to the door behind her and where I thought I could see dark forms retreating through the glass.

"Unwanted admirers?" I asked, knowing the feeling well. While I imagined her reasons were different, Harry Potter had no lack of people looking to get an in with him, and thus, me. The lengths some people would go to were chilling, really.

"Ah. yes, it would seem so." She answered, a light blush crawling onto her cheeks. A moment later Draco spoke up from the side, my friend rising to a position where he was fully sitting rather than laying down.

"Do you want help?" He asked, uncharacteristically serious. I blinked in surprise, glancing over to find that he was almost entirely stone-faced. Well that was interesting. I don't recall him ever acting like this before with my admirers. Still, I pushed the concern away for later, instead focusing on the girl as she shook her head.

"No, it's fine. I can just wait until they're gone." The girl said apologetically. I quirked another eyebrow, but said nothing. I didn't mind. Draco, on the other hand, smiled.

"Fell free to stay if you want. This guy's pretty boring, actually." He nodded at me, and my brow rose even higher. Well, well, well. Someone was being chivalrous, weren't they. Regardless, the girl shook her head, denying his offer.

"Sorry, but my friend is waiting for me in our compartment. I was just going to the bathroom when those... _boys_ interrupted." She said, almost sneering at the word 'boys'. I snorted, but again remained silent. Draco seemed to have this handled, and I turned my attention back to my book.

After a few minutes, the girl left, leaving Draco to stare at the door with a strangely forlorn look on his face. When he didn't look away, I decided to speak up. "Well that was certainly interesting. I've never seen you act like a lovestruck puppy before." I didn't look up from my work, but could practically _feel _it when Draco snapped around to glare at me.

"Shut up." He said, voice thick with embarrassment. I paused, glancing up to see him blushing bright as a cherry. Sighing, I shook my head.

"Draco, there's nothing wrong with being interested in girls. Just don't let it make a fool out of you. You do that well enough on your own." He glared, but I didn't bother meeting it, turning back to my book. After a minute he sighed, and I caught sight of him laying back down.

"Yeah, yeah," He muttered halfheartedly, tugging a smile from me. Well at least he knew better than to deny it. I might have had to smack the silliness out of him if he had.

XXX

**OOC: Well, there we go. Next chapter up. If you're wondering, yes I'm being vague about what Harry has been doing for the last three years, and how. It will all be revealed in good time. There's plenty of hints if you want to guess, but I'm not going to shove a dissertation on it in the middle of the text until a good time comes up to have it explicitly said.**

**Hope you enjoyed, and don't forget to review! See ya!**


	3. Verse 2

The rest of the trip was, surprisingly, uneventful. No Ronald Weasley poking his nose in for a seat, Draco was already here and doing his own thing, and even the more likely instance of Hermione and Neville looking for a toad failed to make an appearance. I wondered if perhaps they had already found him before reaching us, or if the two simply never met at all. Butterflies were a bitch to predict at the best of times, and I'd had three years to flap my wings, much as I tried to limit the damage. WIthout even knowing how the two were meant to meet in the first place, I couldn't hope to tell whether it still passed. There were no other interruptions either, which thankfully allowed me to complete my work in peace, before switching over to a potions textbook to leaf through, another of the few meaningful skills I had been able to practice without a wand.

Eventually, Draco and I got changed, though there was no shuffling turns or any of those ridiculous cliches. I simply took off my hoodie and threw the school robes on over my regular clothes, as a drafty castle in Scotland during September was likely to be cold regardless. Draco, being the asshole that he was, just activated his glamour and shot me a cheeky grin. Sometimes I regretted giving him that thing, or at least not bothering to make one of my own. On the other hand, I wasn't much for appearances regardless, and had other things to occupy my time and attention. Soon enough, the two of us were stepping off the train in the cool night air, glancing around and taking in the shaby station.

"Yo, Hagrid!" I called out into the crowds, drawing the attention of a massive shadow as he worked to rally around the other first years.

"Harry! And Draco too! How are ye?" The large man asked, smiling through his shaggy beard and prompting a warm smile from me. I had met the man a few times over the years, usually when visiting Hogwarts for one reason or another, and he was just as friendly as portrayed in the books. I didn't interact with him often-my preferences tended to lean towards a quiet sort of atmosphere-but he seemed determined to treat me like a close friend regardless.

"We're alive," I answered easily, sliding up to his side with Draco close on my heels, still bobbing his head in time to his music, "Can't ask for much more than that."

"Jus' as usual, then." He nodded, smiling back. Then he glanced back to the crowd still filtering out of the train. "Well, yeh know the way, Imagine. Come on." I shrugged, having no argument there. To be honest, this was a moment I'd been waiting for pretty much my whole life as Harry Potter, almost as soon as I figured out what had happened to me. It was, after all, tradition.

Following along, I soon found myself in a boat with Draco and two admittedly forgettable girls. Eventual Hufflepuffs or ravenclaws I imagined, or perhaps just some of the more backgroundish Gryffindors and SLytherins. Most of those two houses had pretty striking attributes, but it had been a long time since I read the books. I was more surprised I hadn't run into one of the main characters, really, or perhaps one of those two girls we met on the train. My plot senses were left pretty disappointed, but I was eventually distracted as suddenly the boat rounded an overhang, and I was provided with perhaps the most iconic sight ever.

I had seen Hogwarts before of course, both from the outside and inside, so there was nothing new there, nothing surprising. And yet, the moment that grand castle came into sight, shimmering and glittering in the starlight, I felt as if something had punched me in the chest. Up until this moment, the world around me had felt almost surreal, like a washed out painting of abstract art. I knew, theoretically, that I was going to have to deal with the plot of the books at some point, that I would be protecting the Sorcerer's Stone, infiltrating the Chamber of Secrets, and participating in the Triwizard Tournament. I knew, logically, that I would have to fight for my life, learn spells and deal with all the other bullshit that popped up. But time has a way of washing worries like that away, and ten years is a lot of time to wait for your if I had spent so much of it planning, plotting, and preparing, there was just a point where you grew bored of the tension. But now? Now I was _here._ Now I would be sorted, dropped into my classes, and the adventure would begin. Things were finally starting to roll along, and I could do nothing to stop it, even if I wanted to.

The feeling passed after a moment, leaving me a bit hollow inside as clouds passed overhead and cast a shadow upon the castle, but still a faint sense of that humongous duty lingered. I found myself shivering in the cool night air, and by the time our boat ground to a stop on the grassy shore, I was clenching my jaw so tightly it hurt. Nervous energy filled me, setting my heart to pounding and making my steps bouncy as I joined the crowd of first years swarming up to the castle behind Hagrid. Even as the usual greetings between McGonagall and Hagrid passed by, I found myself distracted, going over every one of the contingency plans and goals I had developed while preparing for this day, and the days to come. Even Mcgonagall's speech on houses I ignored, though I did spare the matronly woman a small smile when her eyes settled on me momentaily, which she returned. She never did forget the day I asked her to help me with Pettigrew, even if we interacted even less than me and Hagrid. The one thing that finally drew me out of my fugue state was the sound of Draco's voice, cutting into my thoughts like a knife through butter.

"Harry." He called softly, his voice almost lost among the murmurs that had erupted around us the moment McGonagall walked into the Great Hall. I turned to look at him, taking note of his dark, worried expression. "Harry, are you alright?" He asked, making me blink in surprise.

"Yeah." I answered afer a moment, shaking my head to clear it. "Sorry, I'm just distracted. I've known this day would come forever, but now that it's here it feels so…" I trailed off, unsure how to put it.

"Unreal?" Draco suggested, lips twitching slightly with humor now, but I shook my head, this time in negative.

"That's the problem actually. It feels too real. Before, everything was a dream, an idea, this surreal concept that could change and shift on a whim. But now, I'm staring reality in the face, and I can't quite believe the shape of it." Draco cocked an eyebrow at my description, before chuckling.

"It'll be fine, Harry. I've seen the things you're preparing. Whatever happens, you'll be ready." I smiled at his reassurances, but that still wasn't enough to dismiss the nagging worry in my stomach. I never lied, and Draco was my closest friend in this world, but he only knew a few of my secrets. He was aware that I had seen the future, _a _future at least, and that a war was coming soon. But at the same time, he was an eleven-year-old boy, and for all his intelligence he didn't quite grasp what that meant. He didn't understand that if I fucked things up, or if the butterflies my presence had set flapping changed enough, then people would _die._ And that was what worried me most, that I had changed things more than I could compensate for. That maybe Quirrel wasn't Voldemort's host this time around, or maybe the evil bastard would come back fully in first year some other way than the stone. I _wasn't_ ready for that, not yet.

Eventually, we were interrupted by the giant doors that led to the Great Hall opening, and McGonagall appearing to lead us all the way in. I was one of the few not looking around and gasping in awe as we followed, having seen it all before and without the impact of seeing Hogwarts from the lake, it hardly fazed me. I did catch a few interested glances here and there directed at me, and whispers of either my name or moniker making the rounds, but it wasn't much. Three years after I returned to the Wizarding World, most of my fame had gained a well-worn manner, so unlike canon the entire crowd wasn't straining to catch of the legendary Harry Potter. There was still plenty of interest of course, I was a celebrity regardless, but not enough to bother me any.

As the Sorting Hat started singing, I allowed myself to slowly descend back into my thoughts, keeping only half an ear open for the proceedings. This time, however, I focused on my surroundings, taking in every detail I could and for the first time inspecting the crowd of faces around me. A few I could pick out by sight, Purebloods I had run into or those with the most notable traits from the books, like Ronald Weasley's bright red hair or the bushy mop and eager face that had to belong to Hermione Granger. I was, however, surprised by the number of people who didn't seem familiar, despite clearly standing out. The first, and most surprising, was the red-head who had taken refuge in our compartment on the train. To be honest, I actually assumed she was a year or two older than us, but here she was, standing among the first years and wearing unmarked robes. The other redhead, however, had seemingly disappeared, and I couldn't find her anywhere in the hall. Only a boy who looked like he might be related-especially with the same combat-ready stance they shared-and whose dark hair had apparently been soaked recently by water.

Then we got to the ones I didn't know, for all that my mind told me I should. The first was a tall girl with incredibly long black hair and perhaps an even more developed form than the beautiful redhead, who also happened to be standing side-by-side with her. The second was another boy with black, windswept hair who couldn't seem to sit still, his sea-green eyes scanning the room almost as often as me as his fingers twitched. He looked like trouble on two legs, and I found myself liking him instantly. The third though, the third took me aback, a little girl with snow-white hair, blood-red eyes, and an angelic smile on her face as she stared in awe at the Hat. Just looking at her sent a shiver of primordial fear down my spine that didn't seem to have any reason behind it. That set my plot senses tingling, but before I could even consider it, the Hat finished its song, and McGonagall started calling out names. With a shake of my head I pushed the thought away and focused. Who went where could actually be important, after all.

At first, things progressed pretty much as expected, half a dozen names I didn't particularly recognize getting sorted to random houses. There were a few, like boot or Bones that triggered a memory or too, but were dismissed quickly as unimportant. Then… well, then McGonagall got to the E's, and I suddenly found my whole entire world turning upside down.

"Einzbern, Illyasviel Von!" The emerald-robed Professor called, prompting the white-haired girl I had noticed earlier to move forward. I blinked, the name registering somewhere deep in my memory and sending about a dozen warning flags up. I knew that name. It wasn't from Harry Potter, that much I was certain, but I _knew _that name. How did I-

It clicked, right as the girl took her seat under the Hat and faced the crowd, her ruby eyes disappearing beneath its tattered brim. Illyasviel Von Einzbern, the name of Emiyas Kiritsugu's daughter from the Nasuverse. Also Emiya Shirou's murderous sister, and master of Servant Berserker in the Fifth Grail War, not to mention the Lesser Grail for the same. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuckitty fucking me sideways with a rusty fucking apricot _fuck._

Draco." I said quietly, the sound of my voice startling the boy from where he too was watching the sorting intently. "Please tell me I did not hear the name Illyasviel Von Einzbern." Draco blinked, before frowning.

"I think that was right, yeah. Why, what's wrong?" I didn't frown. No, I was panicking far too much at the moment for my features to even twitch from the stone-dead expression they had set in. Fuck. That meant everything I thought I knew, every plan I had made, just went up in smoke, because if Illyasviel Von Einzbern existed, if she was _here, _at Hogwarts, that meant one thing. I was in a Crossover, and if it went even one step further than a single little girl, nothing would be the same. How had I missed this, I wondered briefly, before snorting and shaking my head. No, that was easily answered. I had never been particularly good at keeping up with news of any sort even when I still had ready access to social media and the internet, but these last few years I barely even stepped outside the house except for a few meaningless social functions. If Magus Society existed alongside the Wizarding World, I wouldn't have noticed unless they came kicking down the front door, and even then I probably would have just told them to go away. This was _entirely _my fault.

"What's wrong, Draco," I answered just as quietly and evenly as before, staring dead-eyed at the white-haired girl, "Is that you were wrong. We are utterly _fucked._"

XXX

**OOC: Alright, here we go, The first part of the Sorting done. Don't worry, there's more to come, I just felt that this was a good stopping point, and it kept the full weight of this all-important realization from being diminished. By the end of this, Harry will probably be revising his statement to ****_completely _****and utterly fucked. The Nasuverse is just the beginning of this mess.**

**Anyways, don't forget to Rest, Relax, and Enjoy! See ya!**


	4. Verse 3

_**OOC: Alright, first things first, I just want to say this right now. This chapter has my SI's Sorting, and as such, will likely come off as something of a wank-fest. There are a few reasons for this, but the primary one is something that i've mentioned before, in that it is **_**very **_**difficult for a person to truly examine their own personality and abilities without either fluffing them up, or dunking on themselves so hard there can be no accusations of Mary Sue-ness. It's made even worse for me, mainly because I have done things and been considered things by numerous people around me that fits very easily into at least a loose interpretation of that trope, so even telling the truth sounds very arrogant. Combine that with the fact that I take great effort to know myself inside and out, am very comfortable with who and what I am and what I am capable of, and refuse to lie about even the smallest thing, whether it be to avoid accusations or anything else, and a psychological examination such as the Sorting becomes a very complicated affair, because not only do I have to accurately portray myself, but attempt to accurately portray what an outside perspective on my mind would look like. That takes a certain talent for disassociative thinking, and while I would like to think I'm capable of such, there's no guarantee, and even if there was, most people would not assume it **_**was **_**accurate simply by its nature. As such, keep in mind that there is a very clear dichotomy between what **_**Harry, **_**my SI,**_ _**says in this chapter, and what the **_**Hat** _**does. Everything the Hat claims about him is something I have had somebody else tell me about myself, often multiple times from multiple people. Everything Harry says or believes is my own personal beliefs and nature, whether I have been told it or not.**_

_**If anybody would like to know more about why I believe the way I do, or the things in my life that make me so confident in my intellectual abilities, you can feel free to ask in a review and I'll PM back. I just won't put it here, because the last time I tried that in a public setting, it got called out as arrogant bragging and misunderstood. In the meantime, remember that this is a story, and you don't have to read it if you don't want to. Any Flames or trollish reviews will at best be ignored, and at worst reported, depending on just how bad they are.**_

XXX

"What's wrong, Draco, is that you were wrong. We are utterly _fucked._" My friend didn't freak out at the statement from me, despite how much I might feel such a reaction was appropriate. Instead he merely raised a curious eyebrow in my direction, only the slightest of frowns tilting his lips to reveal the worry I had inspired. Draco knew me, knew my ways and how I spoke for varying levels of insanity and or dangerousness. During my studies, that was an important skill to have for anyone around me. So he would likely realize I wasn't talking about an immediate threat, but also knew I was completely and utterly serious. Before the blonde could speak up, however, we were both interrupted by another voice, hissing from a few steps away.

"Language!" A girl with dark-brown hair hissed, and it took me a few blinks of surprise to realize that it was the one I had pegged as a likely Hermiione. She had what was probably the most adorable frownI had ever seen on her face, glaring eleven-year-old grade death in our direction. I blinked again, glancing around to notice that quite a few of our fellow first years had also taken note of the conversation, and most either shared her anger or wore incredulous expressions. Ah, right, a bunch of kids from nineties Britain. They likely weren't so used to cursing. I turned back to Hermione, giving her my best roguish grin, and spoke.

"English." I retorted, before pointedly turning my back on her to look once again at where Illyasviel was being sorted. There was an offended gasp behind me, but I ignored it. Hermione was far from my greatest concern at the moment, and however offended she might be, I could probably wipe that slate clean after literally saving her life in the future. And even if not, I wasn't going to let a _possible _ally change how I acted because she got offended by the words I used. Either she got used to it, learning an important lesson in the process, or I could work without her.

The next few minutes were perhaps some of the most stressful I had experienced in this life, and maybe even the next as my mind burned with thought after thought trying to understand and predict just what this latest development meant. So, first shocked reactions aside, there were just a few things I knew for certain. Illyasviel von Einzbern existed, and she was here in Hogwarts. The question was, what did that mean exactly? The timelines had obviously been fucked with; Fate/Zero, and the fourth Holy Grail War, took place in 1994, and she should have been about eight years old then. This was three years earlier, and she was three years older. Unless Jubstacheit interfered with her biological progression? Could that even be done to a half-homunculus? _Was _she a homunculus, or just some Wizarding World analogue? I didn't know. There were as many possible interpretations of a crossover as there were stars in the sky, and given my own nature, things only got more and more complicated. I don't _think _this was after Kiritugu died, if that was even a thing here, because there was no hint of murderousness in her eyes. I liked to consider myself a decent judge of character, an empath, even, and watching her sit on that stool, Illyasviel von Einzbern struck me as a perfectly normal little girl. Cheerful, excited, maybe a little bit of nervousness, but no deep-seated rage or hatred.

"Ravenclaw!" I frowned as the hat suddenly shouted out, disturbing me from my thoughts. Ravenclaw. That might suggest a Magus background, or some sort of mindset similar to it. Pursuit of knowledge at the cost of all else and such. Or it could just mean a girl who liked books, or had been distilled with some twisted sense of wisdom by her similarly twisted father. Again, I couldn't know for certain, and as the girl stepped down towards her new House table, the edging of her robes shimmering into a deep royal blue, I studied her. There was nothing there to further define the decision, so with a grimace I pushed the thoughts into a tiny box in the corner of my mind for further study. Beside me, Draco shifted, apparently catching my expression.

"You going to be alright, Harry?" He asked, eyeing me warily, and I shook my head just a touch. To be honest, I didn't know. With a crossover being in play, everything I thought I knew about the world was gone, and all my plans were threatened to the point of extinction. I didn't even know what all had changed about the setting. How close was the Magus Association to the Wizarding World, and how had they influence each other so far? What version of the Kaleidoscopic worlds were they even based off of? Was that the only crossover element, or had I landed in the center of a nexus of worlds? The last one, at least, I didn't have to worry too long about, as shortly after, McGonagall called another name I recognized, though it took me a moment to place it.

"Gremory, Rias!" The name tingled on the edge of my brain as I watched one of the students I had noted step up, the beautiful red-head who hid in our train compartment. Rias Gremory, eh? That was… HIghschool DxD, if I recalled correctly. I flinched at the faded memories, barely noting as Draco's frown deepened in response. Goddammit, that was even more worrying, if anything. Devils, Fallen, and Angels, not to mention a whole slew of otherworldly organizations and pantheons to contend with was _not _something I wanted. My knowledge was already limited when it came to the Nasuverse and how it might interact with Harry Potter, but DxD blew even that out of the water. I could maybe dodge the Grail Wars, if I just stayed out of Fuyuki and maybe Romania, but the Three Factions were _everywhere._ Even Kuoh only became a battleground because the key players were there. And with a high-class devil's tendency to hunt down powerful pieces for their peerage, there was no way I could avoid being targeted by her. My annoyance at that fact was enough I almost missed her getting sorted into Hufflepuff after just a few second, but still I filed the knowledge away. It made sense; For all that she was a Devil, there was little else about the girl to suggest other houses. No great cunning, desire for wisdom, or grand courage, but she was certainly a mother hen to broken people. When one Himejima Akeno, the dark-haired girl I had seen with her earlier followed a name or two after, I was even less surprised. That was her Queen piece, if I recalled correctly, so deep and abiding Loyalty was a given.

Jackson, Perseus!" McGonagall called out a few moments later, and by this point I was well enough into my thinking state that I didn't even flinch at the name, though I recognized it easily. How could I not, after it had so heavily shaped my childhood? Percy Jackson and the Olympians, the first book series I ever decided to be my favorite. Eyeing the dark-haired, green-eyed boy stepping out of the crowd, I mused quietly on his presence. The Olympians weren't too much of a concern, not compared to the rest of the bullshit I had to deal with now, but it was curious that he would also be a wizard. Ancestral Hecate blood on his Mother's side, perhaps? It would make sense for the Goddess of Magic to somehow be wrapped up in the Wizarding World and its origins. I also had to wonder if the kid knew about his godly heritage yet. Demigods weren't really in danger until twelve years old, when their blood started getting stronger from what I recall, but the introduction to magic could have prompted Sally Jackson into spilling secrets early. He, too, was directed to the House of black and yellow. Given his fatal flaw, that too was expected. Hufflepuff was going to be an absolute juggernaut this year, I imagined.

After that, there were no more interesting names for a while, though I kept a keen eye on the last person to set my plot senses tingling, that wet-haired boy in chinese clothes. My memories were old and vague, but I dimly recalled something about water of differing temperatures being important in some story or another. If he truly was related to that redhead on the train, was it his story? I couldn't know for sure, and so turned away to focus once again upon the Sorting. Everything seemed to be proceeding apace, as far as I could tell. Hermione Granger went to Gryffindor, a shame but not unexpected, and Draco found himself in Slytherin as well, though with a much longer period under the hat than in canon. I didn't begrudge him that- Slytherin was not an inherently evil House, regardless of what people said, and he seemed pleased enough with the choice. Then it came to my turn.

"Potter, Harry!" McGonagall called out, and finally, I stepped from the ever-dwindling crowd to approach. The Professor handed me the hat, smiling kindly, and I nodded back before looking down at it. I wasn't exactly thrilled about what would happen next. MY mind was a sanctuary, the one place where nobody but me could gaze. And yet, it had to be done, so with an outward calmness I didn't really feel, I sat down and put on the hat, allowing it to slip over my eyes.

"_Well, well, well. What have we here?_" I heard a voice say, not unexpected but still startiling in its suddenness. It was an ancient thing that voice, old and gravelly, but still possessing all the wonder of a child as it whispered into my mind. I shivered, before focusing on my purpose here.

"Hello, sir." I muttered under my breath, knowing it was unnecessary but speaking aloud anyways. It was a habit of mine to think aloud, and conversation should not be held in complete silence either. "I trust I will not need to spell things out for you?"

"_Yes, yes, the usual threats."_ He murmured back distractedly, and I got the distinct impression of someone waving their hand in dismissal. "_I must say though, your mind is quite uncommon, even considering the circumstances. It is rare to find such a clear dichotomy of thought in old men, let alon those as young as you."_ I smiled at that, just barely holding back a snort. I understood exactly what he meant, of course, but it was always interesting to hear an outside point of view, even if only for reference.

"Would you care to elaborate?" I prompted quietly, though there was no need. That was part of the game, after all, and I would enjoy playing it for all it was worth. The hat hummed in my ear for a moment, before acquiescing.

"_Well Gryffindor is right out, as I'm sure you're aware. Courage and confidence are two very different things, you ten more towards the latter. Ravenclaw as well, despite appearances. For all your fascination with literature, it is the imagination you value, not true knowledge or wisdom Stories to gather, weave, and spread back out again to the joy of all." _I nodded, understanding. These were all things I knew as well, of course. I took great effort to understand myself and the way my mind worked, so there was little the Hat could share I was not already aware of.

"So Hufflepuff and Slytherin then?" I asked, following the logic and prompting him ever forward. They _were _the Houses I had tested for before, after all, in my old life. It was inevitable, and fit the word dichotomy quite well. Even Gryffindor and Slytherin were not so naturally at odds with each other, despite their regular conflicts.

"_Yes." _ The hat confirmed after a moment, sounding more surprised that he was not surprised than anything. He knew my thoughts, knew how my mind worked, so it was not a surprise I would come to the conclusion so easily, but that very nature was what had prompted this aside in the first place. I could almost pity the hat for having to experience it, if he did not sound so fascinated. There were reasons I so easily admit to being insane, after all, and this was but a tiny faucet of that.

Hmm," I hummed quietly, mind whirling as my curiosity flared. "And what is it that's caught your attention, exactly?" I asked. It was easy to imagine, but I wanted to hear the words from him, see it the way the Sorting Hat saw it.

"_Well since you asked so nicely…"_ He began, again that phantom sensation appearing, this time of a sly smile. "_First is Slytherin, House of the Ambitious and Cunning. The latter cannot be denied, as you think in such twisty paths even I find it hard to follow, and for all the simplicity of your dream, it is certainly grand. You would thrive there you know, a viper among snakes, the shadow to serve the light." _My lips twitched at that, and I did nothing to quench the small ember of pride in my was not untrue, though I found the Hat's description to be somewhat exxaggerating. How could I not surpass all those around me, with three decades of experience and maturation to their one? I was clever, yes, and intelligent besides, but not a genius by any stretch. My greatest asset was a willingness to _use _what brains had been granted me, rather than wallow in vapid and shallow concerns like most children, both in this life and the one before. I actually _thought _about things, when driven to a purpose. The same could not be said about most others. Still, that was unimportant, so I instead focused as the Hat continued on.

"_Now Hufflepuff traits, those are interesting to find side by side with those of Slytherin. Your loyatly, though rarely tested, is sharp, and when given a task you ensure it is done completely and done well, without hesitation. And then there is your kindness, of course…"_

"I would not call myself kind." I interrupted, though it was not a protest, and he had clearly prepared for it regardless. As such, it was not a surprise when the Hat merely chuckled, once again that sensation of a sly smile invading my mind.

"_Many would, however, and why not? You offer anything within your power freely and without the expectation of recompense to those around you, and even strangers may benefit should you happen upon their distress. What is that, if not kindness?" _The Hat was, I thought with a small spark of amusement, both taunting me and trying to sweet-talk me at the same time. He wanted me to go to Hufflepuff, and for all he knew I would not change my mind on the matter, his words might still sway the balance of where I ended up. I would almost be offended, if it weren't a reasonable attempt.

"Practicality." I answered, this time smiling fully. "I need little and can make do with less, but still find myself with more than either category. What use are resources if they simply remain still, doing nothing and achieving nothing? Better that they improve the lives of all those around me, that my own may be improved in turn."

"_And yet your natural inclination is to seek that betterment in others before looking to your own benefits. Would that not be considered kindness?"_ I chuckled, shaking my head slightly, but there was nothing more to argue against. We had both said our piece.

"Perhaps, perhaps not, " I half-conceded, smile widening. "Words are but wind, and so change direction with every speaker. That is why we must judge ourselves, for who else knows our entire story but us?"

"_And how do you judge, then?"_ The Hat asked after a moment's pause, making me raise my eyebrows in amusement. Of course it would come down to this, because the Sorting was more than a test of your personality, but your desires as well. The problem was that I couldn't quite decide where I wanted to go, at the end of the day. He had the right of it, after all. I could manage well enough in both Houses easy enough, and was mature enough to recognize nether could define me fully. So I did something I had not tried to do since very early in this life. I lifted my head, looking out over the Great Hall where hundreds of young Witches and Wizards held their breath waiting for the verdict, and I _looked._

Something that should be known about my past is that even before being reborn in this world, I had believed in magic. I had experienced things that could not be easily explained otherwise, and neither science nor religion provided convincing arguments against its existence. Moreso, my whole family possessed… gifts, if you will. Perhaps I was simply mad and could not tell the difference, or perhaps I simply got lucky, but more than once I had predicted a future that came to pass. Nothing concrete or specific, just flashes, moments in time, emotional states of being, and relationships between people I had never known before and those I loved. They were all things and concepts that could not be easily defined, and yet could not be explained away, and so I believe.

When I looked for my future that day, I saw two paths. Two possibilities open to me, one each for the two Houses I had been offered. In one I saw myself sitting alone, leafing casually through a dark leather tome as I relaxed beside a stone fireplace, long rows of bookcases stretching out behind me and my robes edged in emerald green. The weight of the moment pressed on me, imparting half-spun thoughts and fleeting emotions. It was a calm moment, quiet and comfortable. I would be happy there, I knew, a proud man who had achieved his goals and could live his life in simple satisfaction.

Then there was the second vision. IN it I stood upon a wide open field of green grass, examining something beyond my sight with a serious but confident expression.a blade in one hand and at my side someone else. I couldn't make out a face, the form shifting from moment to moment, but there was warmth in their presence, a steadying effect that left me relaxed and happy. Pride welled in my heart as I faced whatever it was with strength and conviction, the golden edges of my robes glinting in the sunlight. This was not a man who had settled down after achieving his goals, nor was he calm. There was an excitement there, pulsing just beneath the skin as a slow smile started to grow on his face. And beside him, the person followed, joined by several more spreading out behind as they started to move forward. An adventurer, never seeking chaos but embracing it all the same.

I looked at the visions, weighing each in turn and judging my own heart as it twisted between. They were equally enticing, equally worthy, but in the end, I could only choose one. When I did, there was no need to voice it. The Hat heard, and as he did, he smiled.

"HUFFLEPUFF!" He roared out, sending a wave of shock through the hall. Beneath the hat, I grinned, even as my slowly whirling thoughts settled. So be it.

XXX

_**OOC: Because I know someone's going to ask, yes I truly believe in my vague ability to predict the future, but it will not be affecting the story beyond the occasional influence on Harry's choices. I will neither confirm it nor deny it as an actual superpower the SI may possess, and it will mostly take the form of metaphors and loosely-formed concepts. It is a part of me and my personal mind-set, but I recognize there is no solid proof for its existence, and so will not attempt to claim it as real for the purposes of this story.**_


	5. Verse 4

I rose not to a wave of applause and cheers, as one might expect, but instead shocked silence, and that fact made me smirk. It was, after all, not as if anybody had ever expected me to end up in Hufflepuff, what with being the Boy-Who-Lived and whatnot. Most, I imagined, had bet on Gryffindor like James and Lily Potter before me, or perhaps Slytherin if they were feeling like being contrary. A few who knew me better might have even called Ravenclaw, for my studious and booky nature, though that category was thin and more likely to discern the truth of the matter. But Hufflepuff? Hufflepuff was, by and large, considered a waste of a house. To the eyes of the Wizarding public it was where all those who could not fit into any other house resided, everyone who wasn't courageous, cunning, or clever enough to wear another color. Of course, that was for the same reasons I both fit so well there and could hardly be expected to do so. The Hufflepuff traits-kindness, loyalty, and dedication-were all very quiet things. One did not bring attention to their existence, and they were only truly observable in the wake of events, not before. Of course one would expect the Hufflepuffs to remain out of the spotlight, simply because that's where they did their best work.

It wasn't until I had descended almost to the bottom step of the raised dais that people finally managed to snap out of their stupors, and I was just a few feet away from the Hufflepuff table when the applause started. There was no wild cheering and partying like I recalled from both book and movie lore, but that might be the result of how few people were actually clapping. Almost the whole of the Hufflepuff table, excepting first years, were still processing the fact that I had been placed among their humble ranks. Still the crowd spread to open a seat, and I took it gladly, eagerly stretching as I sat. I had never enjoyed standing for long periods of time, and nearly half an hour of slowly shuffling forward could wear on someone.

The next half hour or so was fairly peaceful, with McGonagall swiftly moving the line along and the other students still somewhat numb. Not much of note happened for the rest of the Sorting, with only one exception, namely that of the last first year I'd had my eye on. Saotome Ranma was the name he answered to, eventually, and it took me a few seconds to place the name in my recently revitalized memory of pre-life fiction. That was… from Ranma 1/2, if I recalled correctly. Gender-bending with different temperature water due to a cursed spring, and for a moment my mind flashed back to that encounter on the train with a redhead asking for hot water. Ah, of course. Eventually, however, the ceremony had to come to an end, and with a slightly humourous joke from Dumbledore that I vaguely remembered-he did only say 'a few words'-the Feast proper was begun. I raised a curious eyebrow at the table, filled with far too much food even for the masses around it, before shrugging. House Elves, always trying too hard.

"So," a faintly familiar voice interrupted my thoughts, making me look up and blink in surprise at the surprising sight of Rias Gremory sitting almost directly across from me. "The-Boy-Who-Lived in Hufflepuff. That's quite an unexpected turn of events." She was eyeing me casually as she spoke, one hand idly cradling a goblet of pumpkin juice. I blinked again, looking the girl up and down . Well fuck, I didn't like that look. It was far too calculating for a normal tween girl, and if what I remembered about her was correct… I cocked an eyebrow, smiling slightly and shrugging.

"Says the little sister of Lucifer." I shot back, crossing my arms and sparing a moment's thought to lament the lack of backing to these benches. It was hell on my balance, but I managed to remain focused enough that I still caught her tiny gasp of surprise, blue-green eyes widening in surprise.

"How did you…?" She started to ask, before trailing off as my grin widened. Well that solved that question. The comment had been a fairly innocuous one-I could easily divert to a euphemism about her unusual look if it had elicited a different reaction-but she really was a devil, and now I could start making a few educated guesses about anything coming from her side of the Crossover. I might still stumble, of course, but hopefully not too much would be different. Out of the corner of my eye I noted her companion, that black haired girl whose name was-Akeno, I think?-shift in her own surprise, but I ignored it. My voice was lower when I next spoke however, leaning forward to be heard over the din of hungry students partaking in unhealthy foods.

"The same way I know anything, Gremory. I learned." I answered in response to her half-asked question, and couldn't help the small chuckle that escaped when her face twisted in annoyance. I loved using that line. Beside the red-head, however, Akeno was less impressed by my witticisms, leaning forward with a grin of her own, to add her voice to the proceedings.

"Oh ho ho, he thinks he's clever, doesn't he? How adorable." She drawled, in a way that would almost be sultry if her voice weren't so high, and I actually had to pause as I glanced at her in askance. The teenaged-looking girl was in a highly suggestive pose, hand on her chin and lips curling up to form a wicked grin, but I could only flinch at the sight.

"Okay, stop that." I said suddenly, turning to face the girl fully and gesturing at her. She blinked, caught off guard by my non-sequiter, and drew back a touch.

"I'm sorry? Stop what?" the ravenette asked, blinking in confusion I just shook my head, a hiss of breath escaping my lips as aI fought not to sigh.

"That." I gestured again, this time encompassing her entire form. "I mean, I get you're a half-fallen turned devil or whatever so maturity and puberty probably works different for you, but we're eleven for gods' sakes. Even then, some assholes might take your little seductive act for an actual invitation, especially with how you look. Knock it off before somebody gets the wrong idea." She blinked, then blinked again, her mouth forming a silent oh as she absorbed my explanation. I mean, I got it, I did. Possessing the instincts of two races born from sin, the poor girl probably hadn't even realized what she was doing, but it was still, highly inappropriate, and I wouldn't put it past the old-fashioned and frankly oblivious Wizards to not realize the difference. Then Akeno paused, her eyes narrowing on me suspiciously.

"Wait, you just called me a fallen. How-?" She started, but I interrupted her question with a lazy wave of my hand, cutting it off.

"I answered that already," I said, glancing over to where Rias had changed expressions from annoyed to curious. Akeno's eyes followed, and she made a small noise of realization. I allowed myself another smirk, before pausing. Hmm, from what I remembered about their setting, most of Rias's Peerage were a mess, and Akeno had some very interesting problems. Bullshit, in my opinion, but problems nonetheless. My expression shifted to a frown, and I cleared my throat to regain her attention.

"He hates himself more than you ever could, you know." I said quietly, much to her confusion.

"He? Who hates himself?" She asked, but I simply shook my head. I didn't expect her to get what I was talking about immediately, even the most scarred person didn't take every mysterious comment to reference their deepest and darkest secrets. I wasn't even sure if my memories were still correct, or if the vague advice would work regardless. Still, I might as well try.

"I think you know." I replied, still speaking softly, and thanking my lucky stars that these were devils I was talking to. Superhuman hearing was extremely useful in keeping conversations secret. "I won't advocate forgiveness-that's your choice, and none of my business-but sometimes a wound must be cleaned before it can begin to heal. Just remember that you're not the only one allowed to lose people." There was a moment in which I thought she might still be lost, only confusion showing on the dark-haired devil's face, before it twisted into something almost unrecognizable she finally seemed to understand what I was alluding to.

"You're right," Akeno growled out, a flash of candlelight reflecting off her bared teeth as for the briefest moment I smelt the sharp tang of ozone rippling through the air. "That is none of your business." She glared at me for a moment, power tiny sparks of electricity crackling over her skin… before just as quickly they died off, and she turned away to stab a fork sharply into her meal. I almost flinched at the viciousness of her reaction, before sighing and shaking my head. For fuck's sake, drama was annoying, whether it belonged to children or adults. Meh, it was my fault for trying to play mysterious sage, I supposed.

"And what the hell was that about, Potter?" Rias suddenly said, interrupting the tension which had built between me and Akeno and forcing my attention back to the red-head. She looked simultaneously worried about her friend and curious about the conversaqtion as a whole… not to mention the particularly eager gleam in her eyes as she glanced me up and down like a piece of meat. If she weren't eleven years old, and I didn't know better, or any kind of stereotypical male, I would probably be pretty pleased to be getting a look like that. As it was I was fairly certain her interest wasn't romantic in the slightest, but something that set me quite on edge.

"Not my secret to tell," I said after suppressing an involuntary shudder. Then I smiled, just tight-lipped and smug. "Just because I have a cheat-sheet into the world's secrets doesn't mean I'm letting anybody else use it. Wouldn't be fair if I did, really." She seemed annoyed by that answer, but after a moment of thoroughly examining me seemed to decide there wouldn't be a better one forthcoming. Finally, the girl sighed, shaking her head.

"Very well, Potter. Keep your secrets." She bit out, before pausing. I would almost say a thought had just occured to her, but there was just a touch too much calculation to the motion to be fooled. As such, her next words came as little surprise. "Although, since you seem to know so much, I do have a proposition for you…" She began, before trailing off after seeing me already shaking my head.

"No thank you, Gremory, I already have plans for my death, and it's not to join a Peerage." I said, lips curling in amusement as she blinked with surprise.

"Oh?" The redhead girl asked after a moment, voice high and curious. "That is certainly… unusual."

"I'm an unusual person." I replied simply, gesturing down at myself as if to illustrate. "There was already an extremely powerful magical terrorist tryig to kill me while I was still a baby, and contrary to popular belief he's not nearly as dead as one would like. Given that I'm likely to pick up even more enemies as time goes on, it's best to be prepared." And oh, but wasn't that just the understatement of the century. I was already counting, what? Five possible apocalypses if things were even remotely similar to the various canons running around? :More? And that was just what I saw here and now. I wouldn't put it past the universe to dredge up even more crossovers as time went on, just to keep wrecking my shit every time I thought I was safe.

"Well the offer is open should you change your mind." Rias relented, looking disappointed but accepting. "I still have both bishop pieces if necessary." I cocked an eyebrow at that, but said nothing more. Both bishop pieces? Then that meant she hadn't recruited… oh, what was his name again? The vampire kid who could stop time. That did make me wonder if maybe she hadn't recruited the other members of her peerage either, but after a moment I shrugged it away. I would figure it out eventually, I was sure. Instead I focused on eating, now that the conversation was finally done. A few minutes after that, however, I was forced to stop once again I was interrupted, this time by a sudden buzzing sensation in my pocket. Sighing, I put down my fork full of turkey and reached inside, before withdrawing a small silver ball scrawled with arcane markings. I raised it to my mouth-careful to wrap it in my hand so it simply looked like I was adopting a thinking pose-before speaking.

"I'm trying to eat, Drake. What is it?" If my voice was a little snappish, well, who could blame me? I was hungry.

"Hey, I just wanted to check up on you," Draco's voice responded, almost lost in the din as it echoed from seemingly thin air. "You were pretty out of it during the Sorting, and not your usual out of it. Did something go wrong?" I snorted. Now wasn't that a loaded question.

"Everything Draco." I replied tiredly, shaking my head and chuckling. "Pretty much everything went wrong. Gods, you don't even want to know how fucked my plans just became over the last hour or so." There was a moment's pause, before his voice came back, this time worried.

"You're serious, aren't you? What happened?"

"Paradigm shift." I answered, unconsciously letting my eyes sweep over the room as it took in all the important players. Illyasviel, Percy Jackson, Ranma Saotome, Rias Gremory-the last of whom was looking at me curiously, which made my lips twitch into a smile as I realized she could probably hear this whole conversation-and that wasn't even getting into the Hogwarts Staff, who I had quite purposefully been avoiding paying attention to for most of the night. Dumbledore was, as ever, unflappable, and most of the rest seemed to have noticed nothing wrong about their latest crop of students. Snape, who I very vaguely recognized from my visits to the castle over the last few years, was of course staring at me with his beady dark eyes and an utterly unreadable expression, and there was another, identifiable only by the large turban on his head, who surprisingly was not focused on me, but rather all the same people I had been staring at myself. Voldemort, it seemed, had noticed the discrepancies as well, though how I couldn't be sure. Eventually, I sighed, continuing my explanation. "Before today Draco, I thought I was playing chess. One enemy, one goal, and I had all the time in the world to set my stage. But now it's like I'm playing a completely different game, one with a dozen players and five separate rulebooks that all want to contradict each other."

For a long, long moment, silence reigned after that statement. Finally, Draco spoke.

"Guess we had better get busy then." And when he said that, I couldn't help but imagine the sharp grin he was likely wearing somewhere across the Hall. For all that he was young and inexperienced, I thought, it still paid to remember that Draco had ended up in Slytherin even after all my friendship changed him. He may have had even less of an idea about what he was going up against than me, but my best friend in this world wasn't one to back away from a challenge, no matter what it was. By his wits and his pride he would carve a path to my side, just as I did the same for him, and we would face the world head on.

"Yeah Draco," I responded, my own sharp grin stretching across my lips, "Guess we had."


	6. Verse 5

I had never liked school, in my previous life. It was too long, too boring, and too easy. Even during classes I would spend half my time and attention reading some book or another, while the rest was spent on various imaginations of stories I would write in the future. Even back then I had wanted to be an author. The worst part, however, was simple; I had to get up at a specific time.

"Mrrrrrrrgh…" I grumbled as my alarm went off from the bedside table, purposefully loud and obnoxious so I couldn't ignore it. Only by the grace of the Hufflepuff Dormitory's enchantments enchantments, which I had vaguely noticed the night before while stumbling in after the Feast, was I not assaulted by half a dozen other grumblings from my new to sit up, I reached over and turned the blasted thing off, before struggling with the urge to fall back asleep as soon as I saw the time. Fucking hell, it was six o'clock. I hated school.

A few minutes later, I stumbled out to the common room, dressed and blinking back the last dregs of sleep as I glanced around. It was cozy, brightly lit from the sun streaming into high-set round windows and with wood-paneled flooring that made me shiver at the thought of winter and cold feet padding across it. There were, of course, the obligatory armchairs and couches scattered everywhere-more of the latter than the former, I noted with amusement-and several tables of varying sizes with high-backed chairs for doing schoolwork. Few places were occupied, mostly by sixth or seventh years looking even more grumpy than me, but I did cock an eyebrow at the sight of crimson red hair tucked away in one deep corner.

"Getting an early start on your classwork?" I asked as I approached the armchair in which she sat, low enough others couldn't hear, but just loud enough her inhuman ears could pick it up. The devil girl glanced up from whatever book she was reading, startled, before blinking at the sight of me as I finally moved into regular conversation range.

"Ah, Potter. I didn't expect you to be awake this early. You seemed quite tired last night." I smiled at the faint hint of concern in her voice, but brushed it away with a shake of my head.

"More worried than tired, really, and I believe in over-preparation besides. Until I'm sure of our schedules, I'll be keeping my alarm set early, just in case. And you?"

"This is my usual time." Rias replied, her own smile tugging at her lips. "Punctuality is a must for one of my status, as I am sure you are aware." Her smile turned a touch sharp, and mine did the same. Ah, we were already at the sniping stage of a not-quite-friendship, that was good.

"The little details are beneath my notice, sadly." I shot back, before raising an eyebrow at the book she still held open. "Seriously though, what are you reading? I'm curious." Rias looked surprised for a moment, glancing down to the book in question before looking back up. Then she blushed faintly. "Oh, nothing important. Just a personal tome." I blinked. That was… unexpected. Then I looked closer, and understanding dawned.

"Hmm, if you say so. I might have asked to borrow it once you're done, but romance books aren't really my style." I said, just barely masking my laughter as the girl turned an even brighter red. It was unexpected, and certainly clashed with my pre-concieved notion of Rias from what I remembered of her character, but then I recalled that she _was _only eleven at this point in time. While she still possessed the most obvious traits, she was also a child, and had yet to grow into the noble and distinguished devil from the show. Eventually, however, she calmed down, giving me a dirty look once her face was no longer the same color as her hair.

"What then, may I ask, i_s _your 'style'?" She questioned after a moment, expression turning curious. I cocked a questioning eyebrow, but then shrugged.

"Adventure, usually." I replied, smiling as a multitude of the many books I had read in my past life flooded my memories. "Romance is well and good as a subplot, but i prefer something that gets the blood pumping, and _not _in Akeno's preferred manner. Magic and fantasy world's especially, with some science fiction to round things off." It was a shame I didn't have much time to read anymore, really. With all my studies and preparations, I rarely got the chance, and the Wizarding World was woefully lacking in fictional works. Since there was no easily accessible internet either, especially with the way technology tended to fail around large amounts of magic, I couldn't even search the web. Oh well, I was entertained enough with other things, usually.

"It seems strange a Wizard would look to fantasy for entertainment," Rias mused quietly, breaking me from my thoughts, "I would've thought living in the Wizarding World would be fantastical enough." I smiled at that, shaking my head.

"Not really. There's no such thing as fantastical enough, Gremory. There are infinite numbers of worlds to be explored through books, each as new and wild as the last with their own laws, their own own powers and crazy adventures to follow. Magic, real magic, would seem amazing to a Muggle, but so would Space ninja monks or demons and gods to a Wizard. Everybody has their own definition of normality and what falls outside of it." Rias gave me a strange look at that, but after a few moments seemed to decide not to retort, instead humming noncommittally. Shrugging, I turned away and left her to her book. I had things to do after all, and as nice as it was to talk to her, we weren't exactly friends yet. We would just have to agree to disagree, I supposed.

XXX

Eventually, breakfast passed, with only the brief grunt of greeting from an exhausted-looking Draco and my response to break the monotony, before we received our schedules and it was off to class. I'll admit, I hadn't known exactly what to expect when first coming to Hogwarts. My last life I was an American, with a pretty straight shot through elementary and middle school, then repeated hopping around for High-school due to various reasons, so I had some experience in varied systems, but everything stacked up to the same basic pattern. Hogwarts, however, matched none of that, and I found myself wondering if it was simply the British schooling system, or a trait of Wizarding schools and using a massive castle as the premises. The worst part was, however, that I was fairly certain our schedule was _physically impossible._ There seemed to be at least five extra hours scattered throughout each week, and I had no idea where it was happening.

"Harry," Draco said eventually, growing annoyed as I glared at the paper while we made our way to the first Transfiguration class of the year. That, Charms, and Defense Against the Dark Arts were combined between the four houses, at least for the first years. "Harry, leave it alone. You're not going to make the paper magically change itself. At least, not by glaring at it." I paused for a moment, blinking to process the joke he had just told, before snorting slightly. Then I went back to glaring.

"It just doesn't make sense." I said, trying once again to count everything up and finding the wrong number once again. "There's simply no way they can teach all seven years, even with drastic changes to the older students' schedules. Unless there's some sort of temporal fluctuation around Hogwarts, I…" Slowly, I trailed off as Draco gave me a dead-eyed look, forcing myself to stop and listen to what I was saying. Fuck, that was probably what it was, wasn't it. Now that I thought about it, it wouldn't be _too _surprising, especially given the way Hogwarts already shifted around its internal space supposedly. Taking a deep breath, I turned to look at Draco with narrowed eyes. "Let me guess, you already knew."

"Not definitively." He replied, shrugging. "There's a few mentions of it being a theory in Hogwarts, a History, but no one's ever been able to prove it, since things stabilize when they try." I half-growled, half-sighed, shoving the stupid paper back into my bag. Of course that was the case, 'cause fuck logical thinking for the Wizarding World. Even the magic castles were out to make everything confusing just to screw with people. And here I'd been hoping I wouldn't have to break out my non-standard perception skills until the actual magic happened.

Finally, we made it to the classroom and took our seats, with me throwing a passing wink at the tabby cat sitting on McGonagall's desk. Draco looked at me questioningly, but I just shook my head and gave him my most mysterious smile. The cat, for her part, did the same. We had been early, for the most part, so the two of us settled down, with Draco once again plugging in his Walkman's earbuds, and me pulling out my notebook to scribble in it. I'd had a few new ideas during the feast, and wanted to write them down before I got distracted with actual schoolwork.

Eventually, the rest of the class gathered, and things got started. Ronald Weasley showed up late-not _entirely _surprising, but still amusing-and Mcgonagall did her little transforming trick, which allowed me a small laugh as Draco jerked in surprise before glaring at me viciously. Then she started her lecture, and for once I was actually forced to listen. While I knew some basic underlying theory to how transfiguration and magic in general worked-with spells, at least-my focus had lied elsewhere, and it was good to make sure I knew where my knowledge fell short. Unlike mundane school, this wasn't going to be a repetition of knowledge we had already learned and just applying it in new ways, and even better, we would actually be _using _this knowledge. Five minutes in and I was already growing excited for the rest of the year, something I hadn't done since… oh, when I skipped second grade in my first life? I think I was more worried than excited, actually, but that was for personal reasons. Stupid childish crush, really.

Magic, as it turned out, was largely based on Conceptualism. There were a few major rules, things like special numbers and laws about what could and couldn't be done, but at the end of the day even those could be traced to a mass perception among the common populace, both mundane and mystical. With enough brute force and power someone could breach even that if they tried hard enough, forcing their own conscious onto the world and rewriting it to meet their standards, but that was extraordinarily rare. To be honest, none of this was surprising, especially now that I knew about the particular muddled nature of the universe I now lived in. Both Fate-style magic and Highschool DxD-style abilities tended to work on similar systems from what I recalled, albeit slightly different and to varying degrees of technicality. You just had to _believe _hard enough, and the magic would do the rest. At least, that was the basic theory.

When McGonagall passed out the matchsticks to be turned into needles, just as I had been expecting, I didn't start immediately. Instead, I glanced around the room, taking in the other students. Most, of course, were struggling mightily. Even Draco, who was almost as well informed as me, was frowning at his barely changed match as he waved his wand and repeated the short incantation. Hermione Granger was having more luck, but seemed stuck on some detail or another. Likely overthinking the process, if I was any judge from the way her eyebrows knitted together furiously. Rias, on the other hand, had simply waved her wand and incanted, and there was now a needle on her desk. I fought not to laugh at the smug little smile she wore, even as Akeno did the same beside her. Of course the devils would have more than enough experience working magic, even if it wasn't their typical combat arts. To be honest, I doubted they even needed the wands, and they were just using them for show.

A short but wary glance showed Illyaviel von Einzbern was… apparently having far too much fun with her attempts at transmutation, waving her wand wildly and incantating in a bright and cheerful manner. Again, I had to question just which timeline she came from. I _hoped _it was Kaleid Liner, but unless Zero had already happened even the original timeline Illya would be a joyful and innocent child. Then there was her hair. Kaleid Illya tended more towards a really pale blonde than actual white, but this girl's hair was pure as snow, which made me blatantly worried. I didn't want to fuck with the Grail War if I could help it, but even if I stayed out of the way I might have to deal with one of my classmates turning utterly murderous. That would suck. With these worries on my mind, it was almost an afterthought to glance in the direction of Percy Jackson and note that he was having just as much trouble as the rest of the class. Finally, I turned back to my own work.

There was, of course, more to this exercise than just belief and power, I knew. While that _could, _in theory, work, I had worked with even more complicated projects than this for three years now, and wasn't an eleven-year-old child to be distracted by the obvious. If it were that simple many more students would be having luck, especially the Purebloods who had been raised to believe the whole world bent to their whims. No, this was about the _manipulation _of Concepts. Slowly, I studied the matchstick, not yet lifting my wand. There were, I noted, several similarities between it and the needle I was meant to be creating. Long, thin, with a head that carried a particular property-flammable for the match and sharp for the needle-and they were both tools of some sort, used to either harm or create. That last bit was probably missed by most, but a match still _created _fire, and it was little things like that which could make or break magical effects. The secret would come in using those shared traits and concepts to bridge the gap between the rest, and force this match into its new shape.

Finally, I raised my wand and, slowly, started to go through the motions of casting, attempting to transcribe my purpose into the words and movements. I felt my magic, that ember of power buried deep inside my soul and mostly neglected for the last few years, respond to my will. It rose, bit by bit, passing through the holly and phoenix feather wand I held to wrap around the needle,shifting and turning as it worked. A moment later,the magic stopped, and I lowered my wand to examine what I had accomplished. Hmm, that was almost good enough. There was still a woody feel to a couple of spots and-testing the tip with my finger-not quite as much sharpness as I desired. It would pass muster, probably, but I was something of a perfectionist.

"Well done, Mr. Potter." I heard Mcgonagall say suddenly, and I blinked in surprise as I glanced up at the older woman. She was giving me a small smile, nodding down at the needle I still held. I smiled back, but shook my head slightly.

"Meh, I could do better." I said honestly, scratching the back of my head as I looked back at it. "Honestly, I think I'm just unused to manual casting. It'll take a bit to get used to manipulating my magic instead of simply applying theory." McGonagall hummed, but then nodded in acquiescence.

"See that you do, Mr. Potter. I expect nothing but the best from you." I laughed, and she moved on, going to admonish another student on their wandwork. Staring at my needle for a moment, I stood and started to make my way towards McGonagall's desk, where a box full of extra needles waited. Practice made perfect, after all, and I couldn't afford to be sloppy with my magic. As Draco said before: It was time to get to work.

XXX

**Alright, I'll be honest, I had very little idea what I was going to do with this chapter before I started it. Then, when I sat down, things just kinda... flowed. As such I can't really say I'm happy with it, since there were no expectations to begin with, but I'm definitely not ****_not _****happy. Sorry for the long wait, and hopefully it doesn't come off as too ridiculous.**

**Don't forget to Review! See ya later!**


	7. Verse 6

"...And so in conclusion, Transfiguration is the act of binding and manipulating conceptual relations, rather than the concepts themselves." I finished speaking, before leaning back in the wooden library chair and sighing. Well that was that done, at least.

"Potter? What are you doing?" I paused, glancing up to follow the familiar voice breaking into my repose, only to smile when I recognized its owner.

"Gremory, Himejima, " I greeted, nodding to the two in turn. "What brings you to the library?" I asked gesturing around. Hogwarts's library was mostly empty at the moment, it still being early enough in the school year that students weren't scrambling to complete projects, but past the first few days of last minute summer homework. The two girls, each with a stack of books in their hands, exchanged glances, before Rias sighed and sat down at my table, earning a bemused glance from me.

"We've been doing personal research," The redhead answers quietly as she tapped the title of her stack's topmost book. Glancing at it, a history book of some kind, I made a small noise of understanding. Of course, they were trying to learn more about the Wizarding World so they could fit in. That made sense. I was distracted, however, when she continued, "But that's not important. You didn't answer my question." I cocked an eyebrow at the assertion, but didn't argue it. instead I waved vaguely at the paper in front of me, and the floating quill rapidly scratching out the words I had been dictating before being interrupted.

"Just homework." I said, smirking when Rias's eyes narrowed, even as Akeno-who had taken her own seat on my other side-scoffed.

"Looks to me like you're being rather lazy about it." The dark-haired devil stated, her own cruel smirk growing as she leaned over the table to gaze at my work, but I just shrugged.

"Have you seen the stack of homework we've got?" I asked rhetorically, the words turning her smile into a grimace as I continued. "Not even the end of the week, and we've got three full essays, plus supplemental research for the next class. The Dicta-quill saves me time, keeps the writing neat and orderly throughout, and prevents wrecking my hands with cramps from hours of writing. We're being graded on our comprehension of the subject, not the quality of our cursive." Honestly, I never understood why canon Harry never got one for himself, the things were bloody useful when writing long documents and anything without esoteric alphabets. Even note-keeping was easier if you let it just copy down the lecture, not that I kept notes usually. They were useless to me in my old life and got lost anyways, so I didn't expect this one to be any different.

"Oh?" Akeno asked with a light humming, eyes glowing with mirth. "And what will you be using those hands for instead?" Slowly, her eyes trailed down to the appendages in question, which were laying on the arms of my chair casually. I blinked, a dark corner of my brain processing the words and grinning sharply, before suddenly I grabbed up the dicta-quill-it was almost done anyways-and threw it to crash right into the dark-haired girl's none. She reared back with a surprised sound, unharmed but still shocked by the sudden assault.

"I told you to stop that," I said calmly, crossing my arms and staring hard at the girl as she tried to throw me an indignant glare. "Control yourself, lest you be controlled."

"I do believe that's _my _job," Rias interrupted from where she was watching before Akeno could respond, amusement dancing through her green-blue eyes. A small smirk played at her lips as she eyed me, so I just shrugged.

"As long as someone does it." Seriously, it was fucking creepy to have an eleven year old girl trying to throw innuendos at me, even if she looked a few years older. I hadn't even hit puberty yet with this body, and we were both way too young physically. Sighing, I looked back down at the table, where my reference books and scattered papers still lay, then at one of the myriad clocks scattered across the library. Sighing again, I stood starting to collect everything. "Come on, we've got our first potions class soon. Don't want to be late."

Rias blinked in surprise, before glancing at the same clock I had with eyes going wide. A moment later, she was collecting her own books, and Akeno followed suit, albeit while throwing a sharp glare my way as she rubbed her nose where the dicta-quill had struck. I returned the look steadily, before a spark of mischievousness overtook me. Quicker than a blink I smiled, before sticking my tongue out teasingly. There was a pause as the devil stared, eyes wide, and then she started to growl, the sound deep and low in the back of her throat. When her hands started to spark just slightly, I did the smart thing; I turned and ran, cackling like a maniac the whole while. I couldn't help but smile as she gave chase, ducking a burst of sparks.

Perhaps it wasn't the best idea to tease the girl. Ah well, I always was a hard way kind of kid. At least I would get to class faster if I was sprinting ahead of a raging devil.

XXX

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making." Snape said, dark and beady eyes flicking over the classroom, pausing upon each face for only a fraction of a second before continuing on. "As there is little foolish wand waving here, many of you will hardly believe it is magic. However, I can teach you to Bewitch the mind, ensnare the senses, bottle fame, brew glory, or even stopper death. That is, if you aren't all as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach." He smiled cruelly then, and I had to stifle a giggle. Gods, but the man was too dramatic. It didn't suit him well.

The classroom, if it could really be called such, was much as I imagined it, a clearly re-purposed dungeon several floors below ground level and hewn from rough stone, drafty enough the cold could wake the dead. Scattered around were a couple dozen students, all wearing gold or blue-laced robes, and all listening eagerly as typical Ravenclaw thirsts for knowledge and Hufflepuff dedication shone through. It was a shame, really, that Professor Snape must have used the same exact speech on all his other classes, and yet they didn't recognize its rehearsed nature. He didn't deserve the attention he got, at all.

Eventually, Snape moved onto taking roll, and I found myself itching as each name grew closer to my own. This, I had to admit, was one of those few moments that stuck with me, even amidst the myriad forms a story could take when fanfiction got involved. I had spent weeks, _months _even, planning for this. I just had to hope the man would play along.

"Ah, Potter," Snape said eventually, for the first time turning his eyes to me. "Our new _celebrity._" Pausing I cocked an eyebrow in surprise. That wasn't venom in his voice, not entirely at least, and I took a moment to examine Snape even as he paused eyes were dark, of course, but dark with confusion, curiosity, and a dozen other emotions, none of which came within spitting distance of the disdain I might have expected. Was it the gold on my robes, I wondered, that gave him pause? Or was it the years I had already spent in public view, acting quite unlike either my supposed mother or father might have? Regardless, I shoved those thoughts away as he finally continued, watching me carefully all the while. "Tell me, Mr. Potter, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" He asked, just as expected. As a beat of silence passed, I had to fight to keep the grin off my face.

"Well a thank you, for one." I replied, tilting my head towards him. It was sincere, even, as for all that I cared little about Lily and James Potter beyond an abstract sense, it did not change the meaning of Snape's own grief and attempt at amends. Still, I could not help the spark of amusement that rose inside me while the rest of the class descended into confused silence.

"Excuse me?" Snape asked after a moment, his lips turning thin as he narrowed his eyes at me. Ah, he likely thought I was mocking him. Instead, I just shrugged.

"'I regret the death of Lily Potter, no?'" I stated, tone making it clear I was quoting somebody. "My knowledge of flowers and their language is admittedly rusty-" as in non-existent beyond this specific example, "-but that should be correct. Though, while the sentiment is appreciated, perhaps class time is not the best time to express it?" Again, silence descended, and again I had to fight off a sharp smirk. The problem, I thought while examining Snapes panicked face, was that I had been extremely polite in my _was _mocking, of course-seriously, who used such vague and esoteric methods to get across a message to an eleven-year-old boy?-but he couldn't call me out on it when I sounded so innocent. When another beat passed in which no one else spoke, I eventually just sighed and shrugged. "Unless, of course, you meant an actual potion, in which case several come to mind, but the Draught of Living Death is most obvious. Not sure why you would be asking about a sixth-year potion though." And game, set, match.

"It… is always good to have ambition," Snape managed to say eventually, even as the rest of the class turned to look at him with undisguised curiosity. His voice was remarkably steady after the shock I gave him from not only recognizing his cute little message, but also calling him on it, even if the comeback was lacking. I had not, after all, mentioned the Draught's difficulty level by accident. Much like most of what I did, it served multiple purposes. The first, of course, was to reinforce my point about it being a hidden message, since obviously Snape wouldn't actually mean to quiz a first-year student on sixth-year material, but the second was to make the point that I _had, _in fact, recognized it. It wasn't even entirely due to the outside knowledge I possessed either. While my progress in potions was nowhere as good as other subjects, I had still maintained an even year-per-year ratio, and thus was about sixth-year level regardless. At least, according to Sirius and my textbooks, but Snape might have different ideas.

After another brief pause, Snape tore his gaze away from me and continued on with the roll-call, much to my disappointment. I had several other quips in mind, such as pointing out that a well-stocked potions classroom should have bezoars, but it looked like he wouldn't be giving me the chance. I must have shocked him more than I thought. Shrugging to myself, I let it go and allowed my mind to wander until he finished, actually starting the class.

"Your instructions are on the board" Professor Snape said, putting word to deed as he waved his wand and said instructions appeared. "Pair up-_Not _with someone from your own house-and get to work.I will be coming around to supervise and correct any blatant mistakes. After I understand your general skill level we will move onto the actual lecture." I blinked in surprise. That… actually made more sense than what he did in canon, simply assigning a potion and then homework afterwards. Admittedly the class _was _interrupted by Neville, but still. Maybe it was just because we're Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, instead of Slytherins and Gryffindors, that he gave a more direct explanation? Or was there something else I was missing? Unsure, I simply shrugged away the thoughts and started looking around the class. If it weren't for Snape's instructions-another suspicious change-I might try to grab Rias, but other than that I tended to just wait for someone to approach me in times like this. There wasn't anybody particularly noteworthy on the Ravenclaw side-

"Um, excuse me? Is it okay if we partner up?" A small, quiet voice asked from somewhere bleow my head level, making me look down and… _well fuck, _ I thought. That was Illyasviel Von Einzbern tugging on my sleeve and looking up at me nervously, crimson eyes big, wide, and adorable. I'll admit, my first reaction was to look around for any possible escape-because fuck _that _with a rusted iron spork if I could help it, I wanted nothing to do with the Nasuverse elements of this world-but it was too late. Everyone else already had partners.. I wanted to say no regardless, but then I made the mistake of looking down and back into her face. _Goddammit, _I thought, my will crumbling as I realized just how adorable the kid was looking all nervous like that. I didn't know _why _she'd picked me for a partner, in particular, but I knew it wasn't an accident. Finally, I simply sighed and tried not to pinch my nose in annoyance.

"Yeah, sure, just let me clear a space." I said, before putting words to action and shoveling my book bag and pens out of the way. Yes, I had pens, don't I wasn't going to write with a fucking quill and wasn't willing to risk Snape's wrath on using a dictaquill for his , her expression shifting from nervous to thankful in an instant, let out a noise not unlike a squeal, and for a moment I thought the little white-haired girl was going to hug me. Thankfully, she refrained, simply moving all her potion equipment over as we started to get to work.

It wasn't a difficult potion, just a boil cure, and as several minutes passed I slowly lost the tension that had gathered in me upon realizing Illyasviel wanted me for a partner. Maybe it was nothing important, I thought. Maybe she just thought Harry Potter was cool and I could get away with a quick autograph after class and never have to deal with the bullshit that was the Nasuverse or Grail War. Then she opened her mouth, and all my dreams of a-relatively-peaceful life came crashing down.

"Why are you afraid of me?" Her voice wasn't accusatory. That's what caught my attention the most. Instead it was sad, almost despairing as I looked up to find those bright red eyes locked onto me, her hands still instead of chopping ingredients like she should be. Illya's expression was morose and plaintive, like a kid asking her parents why the other children bullied her. Pausing in my own task, I looked at her fully, even as my heart squeezed with guilt. Before I could say anything, however, she continued. "I saw you, at the Sorting Ceremony. When Professor McGonagall called my name, you were terrified. And… and in the other classes, you always avoid looking at me." And then there were tears in her eyes. Oh god.

"...It's not you, exactly. It's your family." I said eventually, features stony besides a slight grimace. Dammit, this sucked. I wasn't going to lie to the kid, prided myself on always telling the truth in fact, but potions class was not where I wanted to have a conversation about why, exactly, I wanted nothing to do with a fellow student who by all accounts seemed to be nothing more than a perfectly innocent and normal little girl, hair and eyes notwithstanding. Given that I _still _wasn't sure just which Illyasviel I was dealing with in the first place, let alone how that might be influenced by the other crossover elements, it was even worse.

"You-you know my family?" Illyasviel asked after a moment, confusion replacing sadness in her gaze and making my grimace deepen. "How?"

"Illyasviel von Einzbern, daughter of Irisviel von Einzbern and Kiritsugu Emiya, yes?" I asked instead of answering, getting a small, confused no. "Well you may not have realized it, but your father is probably at least as famous as me, if not more so." God, how do you explain to a kid that their father is actually an international assassin, who may or may not be destined to take part in a ritualistic murder-death-kill tournament that could very well end the world? It certainly didn't help that she looked even younger than the students around us, who I could at least consider as close to my physical age by sight.

"Papa? What's so special about him?" Illya asked, and oh, it hurt not to laugh at that. Poor Kiritsugu, for all that even the thought of the man filled me with primordial fear it was still hilarious to hear that question coming out of his daughter's mouth. She probably didn't mean it that way, but almost any father would be crushed by such thoughtless dismissal. Fighting back the smile that threatened my serious demeanor, I shrugged.

"That is… a question you'll have to ask him. Not my secret to tell, really, but suffice to say that I would be happier if he never knew I Emiya is not a man you want to get on the bad side of, and even his good side can be dangerous as well."

"Oh." Illya said, crumpling slightly as she realized I wouldn't say anymore. A beat of silenced passed as I returned to work, then another, before finally she spoke up again. "I-I guess I'll just leave you alone then."

Ow.

I stopped in my work again, glancing up to see that Illya's movements had suddenly become a lot more vicious. Despite that, however, her expression was once again one of sadness rather than anger, and heart-breakingly so as well. Sighing, I set down my tools and pushed them away.

"Illya, look at me." I said, for once forgoing the usual british tradition of addressing someone by their last name while still unfamiliar with them, and drawing her red eyes to look back up at me in shock. Sighing again, I fought the urge to pinch my nose at the sheer stupidity of what I was about to do. Dammit, I was supposed to be immune to little girls and their adorable charm. It never affected me in my last life… although that was probably because the only little girl I interacted with regularly was my sister, and there were a vast multitude of problems with that situation.

"Illya, do you want to be friends?" I asked finally. There was a moment of silence, or as close to it as possible, and then her eyes went wide and she smiled brightly, before jumping up with excitement. Unfortunately, the suddenness of the movement made her hit the table, which knocked several ingredients on it flying. I didn't bother noting what they were, exactly; I was too busy following their flight paths as they arced far higher than they should to land in not one, not two, but _three _different cauldrons surrounding our station. As the series of loud _plops _sounded, I had only a few moments to respond.

"Well, _fuck._" I muttered, before tackling Illya to the ground and marshalling my magic as well as I could.

Then everything turned white.

XXX

**Because it's tradition to have **_**something **_**go wrong in the first Potions class of the year, and Illya, as a half homunculus, happens to be stronger than normal human beings, so she doesn't just shake the table. No, that's probably not canon, but consider it a part of the AU. It'll help keep her from being left behind as power levels increase, at least. Also more character development for Harry. He may be a sarcastic, know-it-all asshole most of the time, but there are moments where he breaks down and shows emotion. Only when people are sad and need comfort though.**

**Anyways, happy New Year's Eve, all! Let's hope it's a good one!**


	8. Verse 7

Waking up from sleep, especially unnatural sleep, is a confusing process. Sometimes, it happens slowly, as if you were swimming up from some great depth, while others it happens instantly, as if you had simply blinked and time , I'm experience more of the former than the latter, with waking up a near-=constant struggle for me, but this time I got lucky. When I first opened my eyes after the Potions classroom seemingly exploded, it was to perfect clarity-and an unfamiliar white roof, albeit of a style I recognized.

"Huh, less than a week and I'm already in the infirmary." I mused quietly, That wasn't entirely surprising, but neither was in expected. I was distracted from that thought, however, when someone spoke up from beside me.

"Honestly, I'm more surprised you didn't manage it sooner." Draco's said, prompting me to sit up and look at him-or at least, try to sit up. My movement was arrested halfway through as something locked my wrists in place, twisting the arms above and forcing me to collapse back down onto the massive piles of pillows beneath my head with a noise of surprise. As I result, i ended up simply turning to look at my friend from an angle. The first thing I noticed was that he looked tired, with deep bags under his eyes and a frown across his lips. In his lap was an open book that I imagined he had been reading before I woke up.

"Hey Drake," I greeted with a slight smile, not surprised to see him there even as I glanced down to see what had stopped me from moving. There were not, as one might imagine, a pair of straps or braces to keep me mobile, but rather two orbs of bright blue light anchored to where my arms were suspended in midair, just big enough to cover half my forearm and the back half of my hands, with the front half hanging limply as I realized I couldn't feel anything below where the bubble started. More worrying, however, was what I could see through the radiance, namely a ring of space where my flesh was simply _gone, _all the way down to where pale bone showed through. I grimaced at the gruesome sight. "Ouch. That's new."

Draco, unperturbed by my seeming nonchalance, shook his head, leaning forward in the flimsy plastic chair he had been sitting in as he frowned even harder at me. "Ouch is right. _Apparently _you got caught between almost half a dozen devolving potions and they mixed to become some sort of acid that ate everything but the bone. If it weren't for your excessive paranoia, you would be dead right now." I blinked, then blinked again as his words processed. Paranoia? Ah, he must mean my usual protections. And here Draco had laughed when I first made my work robes as a separate pair from my usual ones. In fact, even these wounds were probably just a result of the space between my sleeves and gloves, which was unavoidable regardless.

"Ah," I said slowly, swallowing thickly. Death by acid would have been an excessively unpleasant way to go, yes, and as I was still unsure just how much leeway my free get-out-of jail card in that regard gave me, not something I wanted to test. But as I was _not, _in fact, dead, I easily pushed that thought away and turned back to look at Draco once more. "And the other students? Illya?' I asked. Draco's frown deepened even more, apparently unhappy that I had brushed off the experience so easily, but then he shook his head, leaning back and sighing.

"You got the worst of it," he confirmed, lips quirking upwards for just a moment. "A few others were hit, but without the full mix of potions, Madame Pomfrey fixed them up already. Einzbern was covered by your robes, so the worst she suffered was being covered for a few minutes until the teachers pulled you off her." Here, he paused, eyes narrowing. "She was very enthusiastic about thanking you. I had to chase her out more than once when she distracted Pomfrey." I quirked an eyebrow at that, but even the amusement such a mental image spawned was but a drop in the bucket compared to the relief that surged through me. At least nobody _else _had gotten severely hurt by this mess. I was used to it, my studies being much more dangerous than most, but normal first year students were likely not. Even as I thought that, I glanced down to where my wrists were still suspended, instinctively trying to gesture with them but only getting an awkward half shrug instead.

"How about these? I imagine Pomfrey thinks she can save them if she hasn't just cut my hands off already." Of course, that question just made Draco frown even more, and I suppressed a wince. He never liked it when I was nonchalant about injuries, I knew, but after having discovered how far magical healing could go in this world-through personal experience, I might add-I just found it difficult to worry too much when it came to most things. Sure, in my old life I would probably be worrying about suddenly being handless, but here? I had seen far worse be fixed with barely a few days of bed rest. Naturally, Draco was forced to agree just a few seconds later.

"There's a potion." He allowed, still looking grumpy. "It's expensive and rare though, so she had to order it specially made by Professor Snape. You're going to be stuck there for a few more days." Ah. Well, that sucked, but there wasn't much I could do for it. That did make me wonder though…

"How long have I been out for, anyway?" I asked, glancing around to see if I could find a clock or something. That was about the moment that I realized it was, in fact, after dark, and had merely missed it due to the soft glow of my restraints.

"About a day and a half, give or take a couple hours." Draco answered, shaking his head. "I should be in bed, but Professor Snape gave me special permission to visit since Pomfrey said you should be waking up tonight." I raised an eyebrow in surprise at that. How the hell did Draco manage to pull that off? I mean, Snape _was _his godfather, and I liked to think I had come of on better terms with the man than canon Harry, but seriously? There was, however, a more important question, in my mind.

"Why?" I asked, my other eyebrow rising to join its brother. "I mean, it's nice and all, but dude. You need your sleep. What was so important that you stayed up just to talk to me?" Here, Draco paused, blinking then he returned to glaring at me.

"Honestly?" He asked, before raising his hand. "It was so I could do this."and then he thwacked me across the forehead so hard I crashed all the way through the pillows to hit the cold, hard headboard beneath them.

"Ack!" I cried out, before the sound of surprise cut off and turned into a low, short groan. Of pain. Then, of course, there was the annoyance of me instinctively trying to raise my hands up to my head, which twisted my arms _again _when they caught on the magical restraint, and made me cry out again. It was a miracle Madame Pomfrey didn't come storming out that moment to see what the fuss was about-I had the impression she was nearly omnipresent in her Infirmary whenever a patient was in residence-but I had plenty of time to slowly but surely bite back the pain enough that I could look up and glare at Draco.

"Okay, what the hell was that one for? I mean, I probably earned it, but _how_?" Of course, Draco wasn't amused by my incredulous tone, simply crossing his arms and glaring so fiercely I probably should have burst into flames.

"_That _was for being a fucking idiot." the silver-haired boy growled, and _shit _he must be angry if he was actually cursing. "You told me that this year was going to be dangerous, and then told me that things were going off the rails, but this? What were you even doing that blew up a potions lab?" I blinked. Wait, what?

"Okay, never mind then. This _wasn't _my fault." I said, retracting my previous statement as I glared right back. "Look, I was just talking with Illya and she got excited, then bumped into the table harder than normal. Ingredients flew everywhere, and a few landed in other potions. It was an accident." Sadly, my explanation didn't mollify the other boy, as he just glared harder.

"Really? why were you talking with her anyways, I thought she scared the crap out of you." He shot back, making me frown.

"Well not her, technically speaking, but her family. And there wasn't anyone else to partner with. She asked me why I was afraid, and, well…" I trailed off as suddenly Draco's expression shifted from angry to understanding.

"Oh, so you went all bleeding heart on her. Is that why she got excited?" I paused, surprised.

"I'm sorry, bleeding heart? I'm not a bleeding heart." I protested, but it was too late. Draco was leaning back in his seat, a smug smile on his face he watched me struggle once again with my bindings. It was a shame they had removed my robes at some point and stuck me in hospital clothes, or I might have been able to break them... Which would be extremely stupid, of course, but worth it if I could smack him back.

"Says the bloke who gives galleons at street performers and made me more than a few tools just for my convenience." This time, it was me who was growling, although it intersected with a sigh as I crashed back down onto the bed and pile of pillows in frustration.

"I'm rich, Draco, a few galleons here and there won't hurt me any. And you're my friend anyways, so why shouldn't I help you?" Draco just laughed, his smugness growing with every second.

"And yet you're in Hufflepuff, despite that. Methinks you protest too much." I groaned, but didn't deign to respond. Damn him, but it's not like he was entirely wrong. I _had _been planning to avoid Illya like the plague until she started being all adorable and sad. It wasn't my fault I'd been conditioned by almost a decade of anime and a lack of real-life experience to build up my resistances. Eventually, however, Draco stopped his taunting and I paused, glancing at him to see that he had grown serious.

"Draco?" I asked, eyebrow raised in curiosity as he frowned slightly. "What's up?"

"It's just…" He started, before pausing and shaking his head. "Your new friends, Einzbern and Gremory. Were you planning on showing them the Armory?" I blinked in surprise, contemplating the question. That was… not something I had thought about, really. Rias was still a little distant at this point, with only a few real conversations between us, and I had only _just _offered to become Illya's friend when everything went wrong. On the other hand, I didn't doubt that the universe would be throwing us into some kind of mess soon enough. I didn't know for certain that Narrative Causality was an actual thing here in this universe, but it would be good to be prepared just in case.

"I guess." I answered slowly, eyes narrowing at my friend. "Why?"

"Wll, I thought I might give them the tour while you were bedridden." Draco answered, trying hard to make it sound nonchalant. I knew him, though, and I could easily catch the faint edge to his voice as he asked. Ah, I understood now.

"Sure, if they'll listen." I told him with a nod, smiling slightly when he let out the breath he had been holding. " Remember how to get to the workshop?"

"Seventh floor, across the tapestry with trolls dancing?" He asked, earning another nod.

"Close enough, yeah. I'm thinking level three, and keep it traditional. The rest will just confuse them." He nodded.

"And if they want to take something?"

"Let them," I answered easily, trying and failing to wave the question away. Then I paused meeting his eyes with my own. "I trust you, Draco. Remember that." Unsurprisingly, my best friend stiffened, but after a moment of locked gazes, he slumped, nodding in acceptance. Silence reigned for a long moment, until finally he stood.

"Guess I'll be going now. Get better soon, yeah?" He said, jerking his chin towards me with a smile. I smiled back, wiggling my shoulders since it was all I could do.

"I'll try. Oh, before you go, can you get Pomfrey to knock me out?" At my request Draco paused, already walking away. His eyebrow cocked as he turned to look at me curiously.

"Knock you out? Why?" He asked. I just snorted, rolling my eyes.

"Dude, I'm ADHD with a tactile Tourette's Disorder. Being stuck like this is going to drive me insane." His other eyebrow met the first, and a faint smile formed on his lips.

"You're already insane.

"_More _insane, Draco. It will drive me _more _insane." He laughed, bright and cheerful, and far too amused at the thought of my suffering.

"I'll see what I can do." And then the fucker just turned around, and started walking out the door. Oh, oh he didn't. I knew that tone of voice. That was the 'I'm totally going to enjoy watching you suffer' tone of voice. In that moment, I knew Draco was going to do jack-all to get me knocked out, little asshole that he was. Leaning back into my pillows, I groaned, even as the itches started to come now that I no longer had an active conversation to distract me. This was going to be a long night.

XXX

**Well that ended up longer than I was expecting. Really thought I would get to the chapter I've been waiting pretty much this entire story for. Anyways, here it is. Draco and Harry have a very interesting relationship, you'll note. Draco is the more sensible of the two, usually, making sure Harry doesn't do stupid shit and actually takes care of himself while also giving direction, while Harry, although it wasn't shown much here, acts as the sort of moral anchor and realistic voice. Where Draco would decide something needs to be done, Harry usually comes up with the plans to actually manage it and without extraneous effort or going too far. The heart and the mind, as it were. I tell you this because their friendship is one of, if not THE major theme in this story. Also because next chapter will, in fact, be an interlude where Draco goes a bit into how their friendship works and describes Harry from his point of view, so understanding why he does so is important. Also, yes, Harry waking up in a sickbed with Draco there is not uncommon. He gets hurt a lot doing his specialty, which will finally be explained next chapter.**


	9. Interlude: Draco I

**Alright, that's done. So, first things first, I should lay out a few expectations. First of all, not everything Draco says in this chapter is explicitly true. Oh he certainly believes it, but being a completely different person from Harry and only having insight into the SI's mind due to their years of friendship, a lot of what he thinks he knows is probably somewhat skewed, or missing the necessary context to understand. Secondly, and perhaps most importantly, is the specific explanation of how Harry will basically be able to pull bullshitonium out of the air with some clever invention or another. Imagine how much knowledge someone can absorb in a single year, with all their time learning split into seven classes, and copious amounts of free time each day. Now compare that to someone who spends almost every waking hour on one particular subject, with almost no free time. Even at the absolute minimum, Harry would be reaching NEWT levels of Runic ability. More realistically, he has pretty much gotten a Mastery-equivalent knowledge, and is now inventing whole-cloth.**

**And yes, for those who are wondering, this single-minded focus on things is something I actually do. In real life, of course, my passion is literature, and I could safely say I have probably spent at least a good ninety percent of my life either reading, writing, or planning things to write. Even when I'm at work, I'm usually more focused on the stories in my head than the actual job. There's also a good reason for why Runes has caught the SI's attention so, even beyond the need for power, but I'll get to that later.**

XXX

"So you're Draco." A young, female voice said, making Draco look up from the blank spot on the floor he had been staring at. When he saw who the speaker was he paused, struck as ever by her beauty.

Rias Gremory was a dangerous creature, even discounting her nature as a noble Devil and the power which came with. Even Draco, barely into the beginnings of puberty could admit she was one of the prettiest people he would ever meet. Blood red hair, sharp, kind turquoise eyes, and a form too mature for her age, she bled regal authority and strength of will, the kind Draco had only ever seen in Harry or his own mother and father. When Draco first met her on the train he had been more concerned with her unwanted suitors and the fact that such a person was in their compartment to pay much attention, but now? Forearmed and forewarned to at least the basis of her nature, Draco was more wary than enamored, watching her every move carefully.

"That's my name, yeah," He replied after a moment's scrutiny, nodding in greeting to the red-haired devil and the dark-haired girl beside her. He didn't know much about this Himejima Akeno, except that she served as Gremory's queen and what little context he could remember from his few and brief lessons on Devils. She was even more mature, physically, than Rias, and the way her eyes lingered on his casually dressed form sent a shiver down his spine that might have been pleasant if he were a few years older. as it was,he just felt uncomfortable, and silently questioned why he was doing this again, before discarding the concern forcefully.

"So… are we doing this, or what?" HImejima asked after a few moments, when it became clear that Draco wasn't planning on saying more. The silver-haired boy snorted from his position leaning against a bare wall across from the tapestry with dancing trolls, but when she started to glare, answered quickly.

"Yeah, yeah, we're just waiting for someone else." He said, glancing down the other direction of the hall, to no avail. Himejima's eyes narrowed as she watched, her arms crossing defiantly.

"Why?" She demanded harshly, glaring at him. "I mean, what are we even doing here, anyways? First you somehow slip a note into Rias's books asking her to come here and meet you, now we have to wait? Who do you think-

"Akeno." Gremory's voice was not loud as she cut off her queen mid-rant, nor even hard. In fact, it was soft, dangerously so, and Draco gave her an approving glance. The redhead, for her part, seemed almost serene, were it not for her gaze remaining fixed solely on Draco, dark and unreadable as she frowned ever-so-slightly. Himejima turned to give her a petulant look, but Gremory simply shook her head. "He is Potter's friend. If nothing else I would like to ask how our housemate is doing. The wait provides ample opportunity." Draco's eyebrow went up at that, but he decided not to question it, simply shrugging when the two girls turned their gazes to him.

"Harry's fine, for the most part. He'll be in the Hospital Wing for a few days, but he's had worse." Draco barely suppressed a wince as he remembered some of the more vicious wounds his friend had dealt to himself over the last few years. Worse indeed. If it weren't for magical healing, Harry would bear more scars than just the one on his forehead, that was for certain.

"Is that so." Gremory said, but it wasn't phrased as a question. Draco's gaze sharpened, and as he looked closer at the Devil, he suddenly felt like groaning in frustration. Merlin dammit, she was doing that thing Harry always did, where he heard some specific piece of information about somebody and catalogued it, like he was building a mosaic of their character, piece by little piece .It always annoyed Draco when that happened, and he doubted Gremory would be any more endearing about her efforts.

"You'll understand soon." Draco said, trying and failing to hide the way he shifted under her piercing stare. And here he thought it would be the Einzbern girl he would have the most trouble with, what with her sudden-if understandable-attention on Harry after the idiot saved her life. Draco liked his friend, he really did, but some of the things Harry did could make life so difficult it wasn't even funny. Speaking of-

"Hi! Sorry I'm late, I was making this card-" Illyasviel von Einzbern, with her snow-white hair flapping everywhere and grinning widely, came barreling around the corner at top speed, only just managing to slide to a halt before she crashed into not only Gremory, but Himejima beside her. Draco, thankfully, had been out of her path or he _would _have been run over. That was little comfort, however, as the girl's enthusiasm died a swift death, with Einzbern glancing around in confusion as she regained her balance. "Wait, where's Harry? I thought he would be here."

"Harry's still in the Infirmary," Draco answered easily, standing from his leaning position and rolling his shoulders. Now that they were all here, he could begin. He wasn't really in the mood to deal with energetic lolis, not today, so when she blinked in confusion and opened her mouth to ask another question, he simply raised his hand to stop her. "Please, just wait a few moments and then I'll explain everything." Einzbern, having learned to respect Draco's requests after he had near-bodily thrown her out of the infirmary more than once, snapped her mouth shut, and he smiled grimly. Then he started pacing, thinking hard as he did.

_I need to find Harry's Workshop. I need to find Harry's Workshop. I need to find Harry's Workshop._ It was an easy thought, one he had experience with, given Harry's tendency to test new protections on his Workshop at Grimmauld Place. The result, however, was not so common, as slowly but surely, a door appeared in the blank space of wall he had been previously leaning against. It wasn't a particularly impressive door, just painted white wood set into a simple doorframe without design or intricate carvings. What was beyond it, however… well, that was where things got _interesting, _as Harry liked to say.

"That's new." Himejima commented as Draco came to a stop, blinking rapidly while beside her Einzbern stared with awe and Gremory cocked a curious eyebrow. Draco smiled, before answering the unspoken question.

"This is Harry's workshop, right now anyways. Supposedly the room can be a lot of different things if you use it right, but he only really explained how to get this version." Of course, Draco had done his own research on the "Room of Requirement", such as could be done about an urban legend, but he wasn't about to tell them that. Harry would share those secrets if and when he wanted. Draco was just playing the tour guide.

"Workshop?" Einzbern asked in a low, breathy voice, her eyes somehow going even wider. "But- a Workshop is sacred! Why would you show us this?" Draco frowned, confused at the sentiment, before pausing and letting out a sound of understanding as he remembered just who the girl was. Right, Einzbern was a Magus family, from Europe if he remembered correctly, and Magi were weird about personal workplaces. _Dammit, _he thought, realizing that Harry had probably known that. Why hadn't the asshole reminded him? Shaking his head, he dismissed the thought, and the annoyance that came with it. Whatever, he could make do.

"Harry said it was okay," Draco answered honestly, before sighing and looking the white-haired girl in the eye. "It's not a big deal, really. We're Wizards, not Magi, so a Workshop isn't that important." Of course, Harry was still usually protective of his space, but that was because of the danger inherent within, and only when he was working usually. Otherwise he kept anything important under lock and key, while the actual space he could care less about.

"It certainly seems like a big deal." Gremory cut in, drawing Draco's attention to her, along with his surprise. "You would not have invited us here otherwise, correct?" Draco shivered as she smiled at him, and for once not in a nice way at all. He recognized that kind of smile, that was a 'I'm smug because I"m _right_, thank you very much' smile. Harry had practically invented that smile, and as his oldest friend, Draco was painfully familiar with it.

"That's part of it, yeah," Draco acquiesced with a shrug, trying not to stare too much. "Look, you guys are Harry's friends, or going to be, right?" He asked, before continuing without waiting for an answer and cutting off a protest from Himejima in the process. "That means you need to know what you're getting into. This is the start of that."

As silence descended, Draco felt the stares of all three girls, each different and yet just as weighty. Einzbern was both interested and confused, her apparent innocence preventing her from understanding the deeper implications of what he had said, despite recognizing that there _was _a deeper implication. Himejima, on the other hand, was annoyed, and yet somewhat contemplative, her gaze darting towards the plain white door and back as she frowned, while Gremory frowned even harder, an unpleasant twist to her lips forming as she tilted her head in curiosity and thought. Eventually it was the latter of the three who acted, stalking past Draco to pull open the door without another word, and the others filed after, Draco bringing up the rear. What they found inside was a sight both familiar to Draco and not, as the configuration of the room differed just a little bit from how Harry usually set it up, something Draco suspected was simply a result of more accommodating space.

The room itself was simple enough, with hard wood floors and open space, the light coming from a single small window to one side and electric lightbulbs in a plain wrought-iron chandelier. What drew the attention was everything _else. _First, and most obvious, was the stand located in the dead center of the room, a fancy and classically carved lectern of white marble, Harry's odd dichotomy of taste at work. Upon the lectern was a book, huge and bound in dark and extremely fine leather, laid open to a page covered in dozens of disconnected arcane scrawls and the precise writing of Harry's dicta-quil from where he had taken verbal notes while working, interspersed occasionally by his sprawled but direct handwriting making a minor correction or notation. Around that were tables, nearly a dozen of them, long and carved of wood at about waist height, and each filled to the brim with strange and arcane tools of some sort, at least where there wasn't a project in progress taking up space.

Beyond that were the walls. Across one was bookshelves, hundreds of books stacked neatly upon them, most covered in a thin layer of dust but occasionally there would be one or two clean and worn by use instead. Another was actually a door, one of those sliding ones which led to a clear closet, and while Draco couldn't see into it directly he could easily imagine the various sets of robes, casual clothes, and dozens of accessories likely held within. Draco always found it amusing that a person who had such little interest in fashion owned so many different clothes, even if most were the same basic pattern and only separated by their use. In the far corner was, perhaps more notably, what looked to be a traditional blacksmith's forge, albeit with several extra tools to allow for more mystical or automated manipulations. Then… then there was the last wall, in which was set half a dozen doors, these made out of cold steel and glinting ominously in the light.

"Interesting." Gremory, who had already moved to one of the tables and was curiously examining the tools upon it, said. "What are these supposed to be for?" Draco cocked an eyebrow, noting as he moved deeper into the room that the other girls were listening as well, even as they started to poke around on their own.

"Specifically?" He asked, with just a hint of humor in his tone. "Those are for weaving, without the physical skills necessary for the task. Those," Here he pointed to another table, with sharper and larger tools, "are for carving. There's a few for embossing over there, and some for different kinds of shaping as well. Plus the forge, of course."

"What-what does Harry do with them?" Einzbern asked from where she was looking at the bookcase, red eyes wide as they scanned the numerous titles.

"Makes things, obviously." Himejima interrupted before Draco could answer, rolling her eyes as she poked at a stone tablet that bore several half-complete markings on it."Clothes, tools, carvings… it seems Potter is quite the artist."

"There's a bit more to it than that." Draco corrected dryly, coming to stand in front of the lectern and the book it held. "Come here, and I'll show you." They complied, albeit reluctantly, and soon enough Draco was surrounded on all sides as the three girls peeked over his shoulders.

"This," Draco said, "Is Harry's Book of Verses- a play on the traditional Book of Shadows, or spellbook. In it he has recorded every successful creation he has ever made, how to recreate them, and the principles behind why they work the way they do. So tell me, what is it Harry really does?" At first there was no response, the three girls staring in confusion at the page as they read the disjointed and seemingly nonsensical notes Harry had written. Or at least, they seemed that way to someone without the proper understanding. But this was just the most recent page, only half-written. When he turned the page back one, all three expressions became that of dawning understanding.

There, sprawled across the page, was a diagram, albeit an odd one. Instead of being formed from dots or lines or shapes, it was instead formed out of _words, _very few of which came from the same language, or even the same alphabet. It looped around, entire sentences and paragraphs twisting and turning across the page in a wild, hypnotic dance that seemed almost alive. It obviously wasn't meant to exist solely on a page, and many of the notes marked around it were instructions on how exactly it was meant to be unfolded and shaped. More than that, however, was the cool blue light with which the design glowed, only noticeable thanks to everyone present having at least somewhat better than normal human eyesight… or cheating.

"Runes." Einzbern was the first to speak, perhaps a sign of her heritage as she digested the strange and unusual sight before her quicker than the others. "Harry uses Runes to make enchanted objects?" Draco smiled at her quick understanding, nodding in her direction.

"Yeah, " He answered, before shaking his head. "Although when you say it like that it seems so mundane. Trust me, the things Harry does are far from mundane."

"What, is he some kind of prodigy?" Himejima interrupted, though for once there wasn't a faint edge of disdain to her tone as she admired the hypnotizing runic design. Draco winced, before shaking his head and closing the book with a heavy thud. The action startled all three girls, drawing their attention to him, and he made sure to look each in the eye before answering.

"Not… exactly." He said, grimacing slightly. "I mean, sure, Harry's smart. Really smart even, although he'll deny it. But what you have to realize is that more than anything else, he's _driven._ Most wizards, we don't get much schooling. Our parents will teach us basic math and make sure we're literate, sure, but other than that? We absorb the culture and history on our own, or nothing at all. Everything else waits until Hogwarts starts. But Harry?" He had them, Draco knew. Already, all three girls were staring at him, completely silent and enraptured. _Good. They need to understand._

"Harry came back to the Wizarding World when he turned eight, and from the moment he was back, he had a plan. He couldn't learn normal magic without a wand, so he settled for Runes. As it turned out, that was just perfect for him, and it turned into a passion, and Harry _lives _his passions. For three years, he practically ate, drank, and breathed Runes. Even when me or his godfather managed to drag him away from the books, or he was at meals, you could tell he was thinking about them. I can't even count how many times I've caught him muttering to himself about some schema or another. Can you imagine that? Three years, full of a single subject from the moment you wake up to the moment you go to sleep. How far could someone go? How much knowledge might they absorb?"

There was silence. Draco looked between the three girls, measuring their responses as he struggled to regain his breath from the rapid explanation. Einzbern, as ever, seemed awed by the revelation, while Himejima was frowning fiercely as if dueling with her own instinct to applaud Harry's dedication. Gremory… Gremory had gone almost completely still, and her eyes bored into his own as he turned to look at her. There was something there, he realised, something that hadn't been there before. An edge of authority, as if she had just come to some great realization and was preparing to face it.

"You said he had a plan." Gremory said, her voice as cool and calm as ever. "That he went straight for runes because he couldn't use other magic, which implies he _needed _something." There was no question in her words, but Draco knew better than to stay silent before that tone of voice. He nodded.

"Harry knows things. Don't ask me how, or even what exactly, but he does, and it's almost always been true. He'll tell you, usually, if it's important or you ask the right question, but otherwise he probably won't mention anything. According to him, his entire Hogwarts career is going to be an exercise in, and I quote, 'how hard the shit can hit the fan.' And then _you _showed up." Draco glared at all three of them, and all three girls flinched, even Himejima.

"He was afraid." Einzbern whispered a moment later, voice filled with dawning horror. "He said it was because of my Papa, but…"

"It probably is." Draco cut her off, shaking his head. "Harry doesn't lie, ever. But he does like to use creative truths, and it's probably a lot more complicated than that. Do you remember his exact words?" There is a moment's pause as Einzbern starts to answer, then she pauses, her face going pale.

"Oh."

"Yeah," Draco said, nodding in agreement, although he could only guess at just what she was remembering. "The thing is, none of you were supposed to exist. Paradigm shift, he called it. The game changed, and now he has to juggle half a dozen balls instead of the one or two he was expecting."

"So is that your plan?" Himejima spoke up suddenly, the indecision wiped from her placed and replaced with anger. "Scare us off so Potter doesn't have to deal with us messing up his precious plans?" She glares at him, and as Draco looks back, he just can't help himself. He laughs.

"Scare you off? No, no, That would be a bad thing. Harry's already decided he wants to be your friend, and I won't fight him on it. I'm trying to warn you so that when the truth comes out, you don't try to murder him."

"Warn us about what, exactly?" Gremory asked, her expression as still as ever. Draco's lips quirked upwards, but not in a mirthful smile. No, this was self-deprecating, painful and sad.

"Harry's going to manipulate you." Five words, simple and quiet, yet they set the girls recoiling as if they had been struck. Draco paid it no mind, continuing without pause. "He will poke and prod and twist you, with only a whispered word or small suggestion her and there, until you're a completely different person. And the worst part is, you'll thank him for it. I did." For a moment, there was silence. When finally it broke, Draco was unsurprised to find Gremory the one speaking, the red-haired devil's voice soft and quiet, almost caressing.

"You make him sound almost evil." She said, but Draco shook his head, denying the accusation.

"No, it's just…" He paused, taking a deep breath and ordering his thoughts. "Harry… he sees the world like it's a storybook, and people around him as the characters. Bad guys get bad ends, while good guys and even ambiguous people he gives happy endings. And Harry's good at it, too. Gives them what they need, shows them how to earn it, and makes sure it's the _right _happy ending, not just objectively good. But at the same time…"

"He makes it happen." It was, surprisingly, Himejima who interrupted, her anger replaced by contemplation. "A suggestion here, a few words of encouragement there, and poof. Your problems dealt with." Draco cocked an eyebrow at the raven-haired girl, mouth twisting just slightly. Harry had already gotten to her, it seemed.

"But is that so bad?" Einzbern asked, looking more and more confused as the conversation went on. "If he makes people happier, isn't that a good thing?" And now Draco had to resist smiling at the sheer innocence of that question. That would explain Harry's capitulation over the girl, then. She was absolutely adorable.

"It depends on whether you mind having your life toyed with." Draco explained, to little avail. When she didn't change her expression, he just shrugged and gave up. "Like I said, you'll probably thank him. Harry saved me from becoming a bigoted, annoying little snotrag like my Father, but it was… difficult. I lost a lot of pride, and almost started to hate him at least once. And yet now he's my best friend."

"Hmm." Gremory hummed lightly, smiling again as she examined Draco curiously. "You say he's your best friend, and yet here you are, telling us all his secrets. Did he give you permission to do that too?" Draco paused, quirking an eye at the girl, before snorting.

"You're joking, right? He practically _ordered _me to tell you, in his own round-about way." Of course, most people wouldn't be able to tell that, but Draco knew how Harry worked. He had seen right through Draco's little veil of showing off the Armory-which he still had to do, now that he thought of it-and then encouraged his actual goals. Harry, after all, wasn't shy about his nature. He _wanted _these girls to know exactly what they would be dealing with when befriending him, for much the same reasons as Draco. So that when they realized just how much he had meddled, realized that it was his plan all along, the blow would be softened by the expectation of it.

After that, the four of them were silent for several minutes, each digesting what they had learned, or recovering from the sharing. Eventually, Himejima speaks up, sliding into a tone of voice that made it clear she was looking for a distraction. "Sooo… what's behind those doors?" She asked, pointing at the steel entrances. Draco followed her finger, blinking in surprise.

"Well," Draco said, a grin starting to form on his face. "That would be the Armory. And I believe it's about time I showed you what was in it."


	10. Interlude: Rias I

Rias had no idea what to think as she watched Draco Malfoy open the door to what he called Harry Potter's Armory. There was, of course, the knowledge she was still absorbing that said Slytherin had just shared about his-and now her-friend's nature. She had known, of course, that Potter was no normal child, even before she met him. The-Boy-Who-Lived, destroyer of Lord Voldemort at one year of age and heralded to be the next Albus Dumbledore when he grew up… it would be a lie to say Rias hadn't hoped she might recruit him for her peerage. That was, after all, a large part of her reason for coming to Hogwarts, aside from politics and an effort by her big brother to widen her worldview. Not just Potter, of course, she had two Bishops after all and with Hogwarts' reputation worldwide as a place where even the most eexotic manner of magic users and races might come to learn, there was no small chance her other Evil Pieces might find new homes as well. But Potter… from the moment she met the boy, he had defied even her wide expectations.

The first moment Rias had noticed Potter's strangeness was the Sorting Feast. Oh, there was that short moment in the Compartment where he seemed immune to Rias's devilish charms-which had already earned more than a few unwanted admirers-but she had been more concerned about escape to notice. No, it was not-quite-first words that tipped her off, the immediate recognition of just who and what Rias was. That knowledge should have been impossible to come by,even for someone as famed as Harry Potter. Devil society was largely separated from Wizards in all but a few scattered interactions, and yet Potter understood the weight of her Sirzech's position intimately. And it only grew worse from there. His taunting, almost playful nature, immediate discernment of not only Akeno's inherent nature but also her deepest secrets to a degree even Rias had trouble reaching, and all of it wielded as a veneer to cover the ever-calculating mind beneath, already churning as his entire world-view shifted without flinching. He baffled Rias. And now there was all this...

"Here we are." Malfoy said suddenly, drawing Rias from her tumultuous thoughts to follow inside the opened chamber. It was not what she had expected, as ever seemed the case when it came to Potter. The word 'Armory' had evoked images similar to that of House Gremory's own armory, some sort of closed room with rows of weapon and armor stands perhaps. What she got instead was an area so massive and filled with bright light that she wondered if they had perhaps stepped outside, before looking up to see the ceiling was, in fact, still stone, simply so high as to be nearly invisible. The walls, as well, were nearly a kilometer to either side, and the floor itself had shifted from cool wood to a solid stone covered in thin dirt and a facsimile of grass, upon which was what appeared to be an outdoor-styled archery pitch.

"What is this?" The Einzbern girl, who had entered behind Rias, asked, eyes wide in awe as she stared around. As ever, she sounded like nothing more than a child in an amusement park, disbelieving and ecstatic at the slightest from of interesting thing. Briefly, Rias wondered if it was a result of her new-born hero-worship for Potter, before shaking the thought away sharply. The boy had saved Einzbern's life, there was no need to judge so harshly. Besides, she was too adorable to hold anything against her for long.

"Harry's Armory, or a part of it at least." Malfoy replied, pausing for a moment as he glanced over his shoulder at the three girls following him towards one of the apparent firing positions. "To put it simply, there are several different levels that Harry keeps organized based on the power, complexity, or danger of whatever items he crafts. These levels are then further divided by what _category _of item they fall into, or era, really. Each level and category has their own separate room, Like the six here in his Workshop."

"And which one are we in now?" Akeno asked, speaking up from her position at Rias's side. "I don't see anything except those targets around."

"Level three of the traditional weapons category." Malfoy answered easily enough, lips twitching as he glanced towards Akeno. "And if you don't see anything, that's because you're not looking hard enough." Smiling, the Slytherin nodded down at the ground beside him. Their group had managed to reach the firing position by now, coming to a halt almost half-way up the range. And there, beside Malfoy's feet, was a chest-an old, medieval looking thing that practically _screamed _hidden treasure hiding within-that Rias could have sworn was not there a second ago. As she blinked in surprise, joined by her two female companions, Malfoy smirked at them. With an almost casual motion, he kicked the thing open and knelt down to reach in.

"Now, first things first," Draco said as he rummaged around a bit before emerging with what looked to be a simple wooden bow and quiver of arrows. Only Rias's supernatural eyesight allowed her to spot the tiny and intricate carvings all up and down its length. "While we're in this room, you will follow my orders to the letter. Harry made these items, yeah, but the Armory is _my _space, for reasons I will explain in a little bit. You do what I say, when I say and how I say it, and hopefully none of us will get blown up today."

"Are you serious?" Rias asked, raising a single crimson eyebrow. "We are not truly in danger, are we?" Malfoy looked at her, his own eyebrow raising, before he smiled.

"Not if you listen." He replied, only the slightest hint of humor in his voice. A moment later the silver-haired boy paused, glancing around to all three girls standing around him. "Look," He said with a sigh, slowly strapping the quiver on his back for a moment as he met their gazes evenly. "You have to understand that the things I am about to show you are not toys or trinkets. I wasn't exaggerating just how paranoid Harry thought things would get while he's here at Hogwarts, and the things he makes are generally designed to fight a bloody war if needed. They can and will end lives if wielded inappropriately, not least your own. If you pay attention, however, everything should be fine. Understood?" Quietly, all three girls nodded. For once, there was not a single one of them who had not become solemn, as the weight of Draco's warnings settled. All of them were here to see just what sort of person Harry Potter was, and the best way to learn a craftsman was to observe his work. They would respect that. Seeing their agreement, Draco smiled. "Good." Then suddenly he twisted where he stood before nocking, drawing, and firing an arrow faster than any of them could blink. What came next only cemented their respect.

Rias had noticed the runes carved the bow, it was true. While she was no renu expert herself, she could only imagine they were meant to enhance the weapon and its ammunition in some way. Perhaps it would make arrows sharper, or direct them with supernatural accuracy. What she had _not _expected was for the arrow in Draco's hands to be completely transformed as he pulled the bowstring back, simple wood turning into a crackling, blindingly bright thunderbolt. For the split second Malfoy held it, there was only power, arcs of electricity reaching out to scorch the ground around them even as the main body writhed like a serpent in his grip. Then he released, and the air _shattered _as it disappeared down the range faster than even a devil's eyes could follow. A moment later, the cracking of air was followed by a sharp _booom _as Malfoy's arrow struck the target nearly half a kilometer down range. Once the accompanying flash had died down, all that was left was a smoking ruin of wood and steel. Slowly, Malfoy turned back to the three girls, who had become completely frozen in shock.

"Now then," He said, smiling pleasantly. "Shall we begin?"

No, Rias Gremory decided as she stared at the spot where an archery target had once stood. She had no idea what to think at all.

XXX

**And there we go. I'll admit, I wasn't exactly expecting to update this any time soon, and I'm sorry for the long, long wait to get here. I've been a little busy with trying to write my first novel, among other things, and haven't had much time to spare for things like this. I also apologize if this is a little… off. It will probably take me a bit to get back into the swing of things, if I even do. I'm still not done with that novel, so it's no guarantee. Have fun?**


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